Sermon:
October 27, 2002
Morning Services

Scripture:
I Thessalonians 5:12-21    
Hebrews 3:1-6

I hope you didn’t let your eyes slide too quickly over the title of this morning’s sermon. For if you did, you probably read it in a way I never intended. You might have thought it said, “Holding On For Dear Life.” Which mistake, if you made it, would be understandable given that you probably grew up being told to “hold on for dear life” and have been paying interest on that advice ever since. 

When I propelled the playground swing higher and higher by pumping my legs harder and harder, I held on for dear life. When I swallowed my fears all the way down to my belly button and pulled myself up that stupid rope in gym class (do kids still have to climb that stupid rope in  gym class?), I said several “Hail Marys” and held on for dear life. And when Billy Bowman got his brand new motor scooter and invited me to climb on behind him for a spin around the block, I held on for dear life. 

I suppose we still hold on to things for dear life….things like fragile vases, fragile children (“Take my hand and don’t let go. This is a very busy street. This is a very busy place. You could get hit here, hurt here, or separated from me and lost here”)….not to mention fragile faith and fragile dreams. Holding on for dear life is both white knuckled and fearful. If we let go, we lose….our grip….our balance….our dream….even our daddy. And while I can’t presume to speak for you, I have reached that stage in my life when I no longer want to feel that way…. “white knuckled and fearful,” I mean. I can understand why tailbacks at the University of Michigan hit the scrimmage line scared to death of fumbling (“Hold on to that ball for dear life, son, or you’ll never carry it for the Maize and Blue again”). But I am not sure that scared runners ever become great runners. Dependable, maybe. Great, not likely. 

But while I have reached the point where I no longer want to run scared, I have also reached the point where I very much want to run true….true to who I am….true to what I believe….true to those who love me….true to those who need me….and true to the values that define me. True, in short, to everything I deem to be priceless and precious. Which is why this morning’s title reads: “Holding On To Dear Life” rather than “Holding On For Dear Life.”  There are people who are dear to me (and I think I know who they are). And there are things that are dear to me (and I think I know what they are). It takes a long time, but I think that most of us eventually figure it out….the content of “dear life,” I mean. 

Sometimes you have to figure it out under the gun. Glenn Adsit was his name. China was his ministry. Where he was under house arrest the day the soldiers came and said: “You can return to America, but you have to leave immediately.” Glenn and his family were celebrating the announcement, so much so that they almost didn’t hear it when the soldiers added: “And you can take 200 pounds with you.” 

Well, they’d been there for years. Two hundred pounds? But they got the scales….started weighing….started arguing among themselves (one husband, one wife, two children). Must have this vase (most valuable thing in the house…..priceless…..nothing like it in America). Typewriter, too (costs a lot of money to replace a typewriter of this quality). And books (a preacher can’t preach without books). And they weighed the pile and trimmed it. Weighed it and trimmed it. Weighed it once more and trimmed it even more. Finally, right on the dot, 200 pounds. 

The soldier said: “Ready to go?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you weigh everything?” 

“Yes.” 

“You weighed the kids?” 

“No, we didn’t weigh the kids. Didn’t know we had to weigh the kids.” 

“Weigh ‘em.” 

And in a moment, books, typewriter and vase became trash. Trash! It happens. 

Velma Ruhly would have understood that. We buried Velma on Tuesday. There were a ton of school people here, given that she was a teacher, principal and school board member for 38 years. Education was dear to Velma, mostly (I suspect) because kids were dear to Velma. Including her own. Especially her own. One of them (Jim) spoke for the four of them, raising all of the reasons why Velma’s life was worthy of joyous celebration. Then another of them (Bob) spoke for himself, in words that had less to do with celebration than redemption. Movingly describing himself as “a son of the sixties who took the road less traveled,” he said there were a lot of years when he could have posed as the poster child for the Prodigal Son story. He told of years when anybody in their normal mind would have said: “That’s it, Son….porch light’s out now….screen door’s hooked now….you’ve worn out your welcome now….we’re cutting the tender ties now….we’ve all but given up on fairy tale endings now…..we’re going to sleep.” 

But, said Bob, “it wasn’t in my mother’s nature to be able to do that” (“or in my father’s, either,” he later added). Not that King and Velma were patsies. Not that they were pushovers. Not that they didn’t know the meaning of “tough love” (yesterday’s “in” phrase) or the necessity of “maintaining appropriate boundaries” (today’s “in” phrase). They did. And, in Bob’s words, “I certainly wasn’t easy.” No, Bob wasn’t “easy.” But he was “dear.” And dear life is worth holding on to. 

I suppose “dear life” can also include possessions as well as people. But even then, some prioritizing is in order. I am not a card-carrying packrat. But I have tendencies in that direction. And to whatever degree packrat-itis is genetically transmitted, I may have passed the gene on to Julie. As you know, she’s in California now….new job now….new apartment now. And given that the moving van was in our driveway last Friday loading her stuff we have stored during the Harvard years, she’ll soon have all of her stuff now (Kris flies to San Francisco on Thursday to help her get settled). And among the “stuff” to be settled are boxes packed (and never opened) when she left Duke….packed (and never opened) when she left Atlanta….soon to be joined by boxes packed (will they ever be opened?) when she left Boston. But I can understand that, because I have done that. 

By contrast, all of us have played that little mind game known as “fire in the house.” What we would carry out in the event of the house being engulfed in flames? Once we knew that all the people and animals were safe and we could make one trip….two trips….well, maybe three trips….to forage for stuff, most of us would look for things like pictures, letters and a small family heirloom or two. I have yet to have anybody say they would clean out the refrigerator or grab the television. 

Holding on to dear life. We’ve talked about precious persons and precious possessions. Dare I also include precious institutions? Well, I suppose it depends on the institution. Paul said: “Hold fast to that which is good.” And he said it to a church….a church in Thessalonica. In fact, the subheading over the portion of his letter that I read to you this morning reads: “Advice to a church.” In these verses (5:12-22), Paul strings a chain of pearls of good advice. 

• Attend to the fellowship.

• Warn the lazy.

• Comfort the fearful.

• Cling to the weak.

• Be patient with all.

• Avoid paybacks. Pursue good.

• Rejoice. Pray. Give thanks.

• Don’t douse the Spirit in cold water.

And then: “Hold fast to that which is good.” Or, as the Greek reads: “Test everything and hold fast to the fine thing.” Don’t you just love the way that reads: “Test everything. Hold fast to the fine thing.” 

I keep hearing many of you say that “church” is a fine thing….that this church is a fine thing….that this church is a value-add in your life (and in this community’s life). Especially now. Maybe never more than now. One of the cards in your first campaign mailing reads: “The times may teach our children that terror is the new world norm. The church will teach them how to let go of their fears.” Which, I would submit to you, illustrates the difference between holding on “for” dear life and holding on “to” it.

The question, I suppose, is the degree to which you and I will add value to the value-add. Or stated another way, will we lend support to the source of support? You know how essential that is. That’s a “connect.” Anything else is a “disconnect.” The world says: “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” That would be a “disconnect.” If a hand is feeding you and you bite it, it is likely to bleed. And while it turns inward, trying to figure out a way to stop the bleeding, it ceases to do any feeding. Meaning that, over time, hunger will be the penalty for those who bite. 

What the world should teach us is “to feed the hand that feeds you.” Because feeding is good….and “full” is good….and biting doesn’t get you anywhere in the long run. But, as lessons go, the world doesn’t do a very good job teaching us that one. So it is left to the church. 

Obviously, feeding the hand that feeds you has financial implications. After all, this year’s campaign theme (“Don’t Let Go”) is about holding fast to this place. All of us know how tough the times are. But I’m not sure how many of us know how fragile the churches are. Even this church. Elsewhere, you have read my word about how seriously we, as your church leaders, have taken the times. Now, all we can do is pray that you who love us….and who are loved by us….will take the church (this dear church) with equal seriousness. 

Years ago, someone once said to me: “Reverend, if it comes down to a difference between making a pledge and feeding my family, I’m going to feed my family.” Hey, no quarrel there. But for most of us, it is not a difference between making a pledge and feeding our family. Rather, it is the difference between making a pledge and maintaining every other aspect of our lifestyle. Which, as decisions go, has always been an easy one for me to make. If I am forced to cut back a little (and given the slowdown in Kris’ part of the auto industry, that choice is very much before us this year), I know where I should cut back first. And I know where I should cut back last. Because I understand “dear life,” don’t you see. This church is “dear life.” In fact, it doesn’t get much dearer. 

I suppose it is possible to take from the church, without taking responsibility for the church. Goodness knows, it’s about the only place left where you can do that. Moreover, in the short run, the Gospel even allows it (“You need it? Take it. Give no thought to it. That’s what it’s there for”). 

But while you’re pondering that, I would close with this (from Fred Craddock): 

There was a certain man who moved into a little cottage with a stove and some simple furnishings. As the edge of winter cut across the landscape, the cottage grew cold. As did its occupant. So he went out back and pulled loose a few boards with which to kindle a fire. The fire was warm. But the house seemed as cold as before. So more boards came off for a larger fire to warm the now-even-colder house, which (in turn) required an even larger fire, demanding even more boards. So somewhere in the middle of a longer-than-expected winter, the man cursed the weather….cursed the house….cursed the stove….and left. Darned if I know what happened to him. But there are rumors that he froze.