 Dr. William A. Ritter Senior Minister |
There
Are Bears in the Wilderness
Sermon:
Scripture: |
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Let’s
start with a short list. The third dumbest thing I ever did in
my life was to park my car on the rim of an Upper Peninsula
dump near the town of Paradise on a Monday night in 1968, so
that I could watch scrawny bears come out at dusk, paw through
a mountain of trash bags and forage for garbage. The second
dumbest thing I ever did in my life was to go back to the same
rim, of the same dump, to watch the same bears paw through the
same garbage on Tuesday night in Paradise. And the first
dumbest thing I ever did was to go through the same drill,
with the same bears, on Wednesday night in Paradise. Which
only proves that Paradise isn’t. Or that “yours truly”
is easily entertainable. Although I was far from alone on that
rim, given that my then-very-young wife was beside me, and 20
or 30 cars (which, by Wednesday, had become quite familiar)
were parked around me. For once the sun slid over the yardarm
in Paradise, the bears and the garbage were the only game in
town. Truth
be told, I know next to nothing about bears. I hear that there
are some in Chicago….little ones at Wrigley Field….monster
ones at Soldier Field. And I know that bears tend to group
themselves under common family names like Brown, Black, Polar,
Kodiak and Grizzly. I hear that some are more dangerous than
others….although we non-north-woodsy types had all fear
domesticated out of us as children by the likes of Teddy Bear,
Yogi Bear and (especially) Pooh Bear, whose adventures with
everything from honey pots to Heffalumps brought me great
pleasure once and, whenever I stumble upon them, bring me
great pleasure still. And while you are pondering your own
youthful associations with bears, I would have you consider
this. It comes from an author named Lawrence Kushner, lifted
from a book entitled Invisible Lines of Connection.
Karen and I drove up to the end of the road at Two Medicine Lake, where there is a log cabin, general store and a little boat which can ferry you to the trailhead on the far shore. Inside, watching hummingbirds dart to and fro around a feeder, having a cup of coffee, I met Charlie Slocum, a retired biology teacher from Minnesota, who spends his summers working for the National Park Service. In the pristine Eden air, I understood why he had returned now for a score of summers. But I was also more than casually concerned about being eaten by a grizzly. “Get many bears up here, do you?” I asked. “Sometimes we get quite a few.” “How about on that easy trail around the lake over there? Any chance of running into any this morning—so near the store…?” He paused long enough to hear the question behind the question and took a slow sip of his coffee. “If I could tell you for sure there wouldn’t be any bears, it wouldn’t be a wilderness, now, would it?” I
thanked him for his candor and we went on our hike. Maybe that
is all it ever comes down to: You can walk where things are
predictable—or you can enter the wilderness. Without the
wilderness, there can be neither reverence nor revelation. All
things considered, it is Carl Price who should be preaching
this sermon. I am the city boy. Carl is the country boy. It is
Carl who knows trails. And it is Carl who knows grizzlies. And
if you are numbered among the seventy who are hiking in
Glacier National Park later this summer with Carl, this is not
a sermon meant to deter you. Yes, there are bears there. But
Carl will tell you how to avoid ‘em and outsmart
‘em….everything but outrun ‘em (which Carl knew was
impossible, even when he had good knees). But
both Carl and I know that there is more to the wilderness than
Montana. And both Carl and I know that bears come in multiple
sizes and disguises, to the degree that meeting one is nigh
unto unavoidable. Let’s
start with the wilderness. It’s everywhere. One finds it in
every region and in every religion. I know of no religion
without one or more wilderness stories. They are universal.
People wander in the wilderness. Others are tried, tested,
even tempted in the wilderness. Still others are banished to
the wilderness….or (having entered it) are given up for lost
in the wilderness. Fairy
tales, too, are full of wilderness. In fairy tales, the
wilderness is sometimes called “the woods”….other times,
“the forest.” Such places are “enchanted” for some,
“foreboding” for others. It depends on how you arrive
there the first time you go there. Do you approach the
wilderness merrily or warily? Does your fairy godmother guide
you through it, or does your wicked stepmother abandon you in
it? I
find it interesting….although not surprising….that Larry
and Karen Kushner were not deterred from their hike by
anything Charlie Slocum told them about grizzlies. As they
wrote: “Maybe that is all it ever comes down to.” You can
walk where things are predictable. Or you can enter the
wilderness. But without the wilderness, there can be neither
reverence or revelation. Which
is an interesting suggestion. For Kushner is suggesting that
there are “good things” to be gained by going where the
bears go. Certainly, there are Indian tribes who equate a
fortnight in the wilderness with a young man’s ticket price
to adulthood. He goes into the wilderness a boy. He comes out
of the wilderness a man. Today,
girls make similar journeys. This nation (anyway) does not
lack for Outward Bound type programs. There are many who
believe that all of us could benefit from them, even as
severely-troubled teenagers often find their last-best-chance
of salvation wrapped up in them. To be sure, there are risks
attendant to such ventures (as those kids from Cranbrook
discovered a few years back). But I don’t see any lessening
of their appeal. Which means that there must be benefits
there….even blessings. Did I say “blessings”? Well, yes,
I did. But for the moment, hold the thought, trusting that
I’ll eventually circle back to it. If
I have any quarrel with Larry Kushner, it’s with his notion
that you can choose to walk where things are predictable. You
can’t. That’s because the wilderness is a creeping thing
which has its way of finding you. Meaning that you can meet a
bear almost anywhere. Which
brings me to a lady named Nurya Love Parish who met one in
church….and she’s a preacher. I don’t know where she
preaches regularly. But on a number of occasions, she has
filled the pulpit of a large independent congregation in Grand
Rapids which has spent three of its last four years without a
senior minister. The
first time she preached there, she met the man who
subsequently became her husband. That meeting took place in
the hand-shaking, coffee-sipping, small-talking moments after
the service. The second time she preached there, the
queasiness she felt in her middle parts (she later learned)
had less to do with anxiety than pregnancy. And following the
third time she preached there, she learned that her
husband’s 104 degree fever was not, as she thought, a
precursor of the flu, so much as an announcement of lymphoma. Three
visits. Three sermons. Three surprises. Two good ones. One not
so good one. Funny that she should equate church with
wilderness. Funnier still that she should equate cancer with a
bear. Which it is, of course. A real bear, I mean. Not the
woodsy one. But a formidable one. Which only goes to prove
that if you go walking long enough, you’ll meet a bear or
two….maybe even four or more. So how, pray tell, will you
live in their presence? Hold
that thought, too, for just a minute. Let’s jump to Jacob.
Jacob of Genesis fame. Son of Isaac. Father of Joseph. Brother
of Esau….whom, as you will remember, he screwed over
royally. And pretty much got away with it. Sure, he had to
vacate the country for a few years. But like the cream in the
milk bottles I drank from as a child, Jacob floated back to
the top. He had a beautiful wife. Multiple kids. Lots of
servants. Lots of money. Now,
twenty years later, Jacob is coming home. His plan is to make
peace with Esau. The final night of his journey, he camps
(alone) along the river. Where something….someone….shows
up and tackles him. Clean out of the blue. The fight goes on
all night. First the stranger winning…. then Jacob
winning….then the stranger winning. But as daybreak
threatens to illuminate the arena, the stranger realizes that
the tide is turning (slowly, but inevitably) back toward
Jacob. So the stranger gives Jacob a low blow, throwing
Jacob’s hip out of joint (permanently). Then the
stranger….the nocturnal adversary….makes like he is going
to leave. Which
is where the story gets a little bit weird. For, if I were
Jacob, “leaving” is exactly what I’d want the stranger
to do. “Yes, by all means, go. Get out of here. Sooner
rather than late. You’ve ambushed me. You’ve battled me.
Now you’ve crippled me. Be gone.” Amazingly,
Jacob doesn’t say that. Instead, while holding his adversary
in a vice-like grip, he says: “I will not let you go unless
you bless me.” So
who is Jacob fighting….in the wilderness….at night….all
night….through the night?
God? Maybe.
An angel of God?
Maybe.
His own guilt?
Maybe.
All three?
Maybe. We’re
never gonna know. And it matters relatively little if we ever
know. All we need to know is that Jacob’s foe is an
adversary with the power to cripple. And if you have never met
one of those in your life thus far….an adversary with the
power to cripple, I mean….you are darned lucky. Because
there are bears in the wilderness. And because the wilderness
creeps, so as to become unavoidable. Well,
what about the blessing, you ask. I told you I’d return to
it. Notice, dear friends, that (in this beloved Bible story)
the blessing does not precede the attack (“Hi ho, hi ho, how
blessedly I go”). Nor does the blessing prevent the attack.
No, the blessing is sought (and received) in the
attack….from the attacker. It is as if Jacob is saying:
It’s
not totally unlike the little boy who, when confronted with a
roomful of manure on Christmas morning, choked back his tears
and began searching for the pony that he knew had to be in
there somewhere. I
don’t pretend that this is easy. For, like you, I am not in
the habit of seeking blessings after all-night fights. And, if
the Jacob story is correct, such blessings don’t necessarily
pop out at you (or fall like manna from heaven on top of you).
Sometimes you have to hold on for dear life and scream:
“Give me something….show me something….teach me
something….that I can get in no other way.” Go
back to cancer, which hits many in the night. For even if you
receive the diagnosis at high noon, the word (itself) tends to
turn everything dark. Sometimes
I compare cancer to a stranger with a suitcase who walks up
your steps….strolls across your porch….and rings your
doorbell. But when you open the door, he says nary a word.
Instead, he walks past you and starts climbing the stairs to
your second story. Following him, you protest…. wanting to
know who he is….wondering what he thinks he is doing.
Tersely, he answers that he is moving into your front bedroom.
You tell him that your front bedroom is not available for
occupancy. You tell him that you have not advertised bedrooms
for boarders. You tell him that you aren’t looking for
someone to move in….don’t want someone to move in….and
have neither time nor space for someone to move in. You even
tell him you can’t understand how someone would just ignore
your wishes and barge in anyway. But, all the while, the
stranger is unpacking his suitcase….moving your
stuff….making room for his stuff….socks and underwear in
the dresser drawers….slacks and shirts in the closet. Unable,
at least at that moment, to evict him, you have to decide two
things. 1.
How are you going to live with your front bedroom
occupied? 2.
Is there anything that this experience can add to your
life? Some
people wrestle with those questions. Other people run from
those questions. The difference between the wrestlers and the
runners is the difference between those who are living with
cancer and those who are dying from cancer. After
hearing this sermon, I figure that 70 of you will pick up the
phone tomorrow morning and call Carl Price….if, for no other
reason than to ask:
Which
is an acceptable question, deserving of an honest answer. But
let it be followed by a second question (one that goes
something like this):
Funny,
isn’t it, that life doesn’t offer “beauty or the
beast.” No, the second word in that popular phrase is not
“or.” The second word is “and.” Note: Obviously, I owe a debt of gratitude to both Lawrence Kushner and Nurya Love Parish for their contributions to this sermon. For those not closely acquainted with First Church, Birmingham, Dr. Carl Price is a retired associate pastor who regularly leads hiking trips in wilderness venues across America. This year’s trip will include 70 members of First Church and will take place at Glacier National Park in Montana.
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