Creekside Church Sermon of November 10, 1996 "Decisions, Decisions " Joshua 24:1-3a,14-25 Matthew 25:1-13	Rev. David Bibbee
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Today we will examine the importance of decisions, not those of the daily round like, "Do I wear black socks or navy blue? or Will it be regular or decaf?" We will consider questions of consequence like, "How will I live? For what purpose shall I live? For whom shall I live?" We make decisions all the time, most of which we don't give a second thought to, but to every person there comes a pivotal moment when the stakes are high and the decision made strikes a direction for your life. "Two roads diverged in a wood," wrote Robert Frost. "And I chose the one less traveled by (in other words, the more difficult of the two), and that made all the difference."

Matthew's Gospel was written to a church in waiting. Nearly 80 years had passed since Jesus had left, and daily they held fast to the promise that he would return. But how long could the church maintain a vigilant state of preparation between Jesus' departure and return. It wasn't their question alone. All the more, it is ours, so Matthew sheds light on the matter by telling Jesus' parable of the 10 virgins. I've told you before that the element of surprise and shock are the distinctive elements of Jesus' parables, but here is one that telegraphs the outcome.

The kingdom of heaven is like 10 young women who take oil lamps and wait to meet the bride groom. Five were smart and five were not so smart. The silly Sallys had lamps, but no extra oil. I wonder who will end up on the short end of the wick? Jewish wedding customs did not include a Caribbean Honeymoon cruise. For a week following the wedding, the couple held an open house and were treated and toasted like royalty. But you didn't know exactly when the procession would begin. William Barckley said that as the couple made their way to their new home, they took the longest route to see the most people and to get as many good wishes as possible, and once they arrived, only chosen friends were allowed to enter the wedding and party.

The 10 young women were waiting for the procession, but it didn't come when expected. Prepared for such a possibility, the wise ones brought extra oil. They all napped 'til midnight when the cry that the bridegroom was coming woke them. The wise ones took their lamps and joined the procession. But the flames flickered on the other's lamps. Their oil was on empty. "Hey! Wait a minute!" they hollered at the others. "Give us some oil, we're all out." "You'll have to get your own," the others said. Well, they looked all over, and finally found a 7-11 that was open, but by the time they refueled and returned, the ceremony was over, the party was on, the door was locked, and none of their pounding and pleading opened it. By virtue of their decision not to be prepared, they were locked out. They weren't bad, they had done nothing wrong. They were just careless. By not deciding to bring extra oil, a decision was made.

As far as we are concerned, making decisions isn't what it used to be. Decisions used to seem more simple; the choices clear cut. From shelves at the grocery to what we see on television, the choices are overwhelming. A fellow wanted to impress me with the fact that he could pull in over 100 televisions on his satellite dish. I said, "You probably spend so much time channel surfing that you can't decide which programs to watch." So many choices. So many perspectives. We can get so wrapped up in the options that we become paralyzed and don't ask if it matters one way or another. We become so bogged down by the little choices that we don't know how to handle the big ones. Instead of deciding on the road less traveled by, we find ourselves following Yogi Berra's advice . . . "When you come to a fork in the road, take it."

We need to remind each other, as followers of Jesus, whose every decision was deliberate, that our decisions matter greatly. First, we must remember that our lives are formed by the decisions we make. Harry Emerson Fosdick said, "You can avoid making up your mind, but you can't avoid making up your life." You may think that until you make up your mind on something, that particular facet of your life is on hold. But not so . . . your life moves on. By not deciding, you are deciding. We make up our lives by our choices, or, as Barry Johnson puts it, "Every choice we make contributes to the fullness or frailness of our existence."

In his book, Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis unfolds what this means:

Every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your immeasurable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing either into a heaven creature that is in harmony with God, and other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war or hatred with God, it's fellows, and itself.

When I read these words I think back to that cold, gray day in 1972 when I stared at the skyline of Columbus, Ohio from a physics classroom. Without a clear reason why, I decided then and there to quit school. That decision led to almost two years of restlessness and upheaval which let to a time of soul searching and eventually, a door. I could choose to leave it closed, or do the risky thing and walk through. Walking through, I left home and the safety and comfort of familiar surroundings and went to college and on to a series of relationships that would have a profound impact on my life. Each decision led to another; it took me from architecture to ministry; from a small existence to a much larger richer one; from Chicago to South Bend to Elkhart. I've often though about how very different my life could have been if just one decision had been made differently. I wish I could say all of my decisions were sound. But even the dumb ones taught me something. Decisions are not neutral. They will make us full or frail.

Our lives are formed by the decisions we make. But let's look at decisions and fear. Once you make a decision, you automatically exclude all other options. The selection of the Tuesday Blue Plate Special means you have eliminated the other choices on the menu. The decision to marry that man or that woman, in the language of the marriage ceremony, means forsaking all others. Sometimes we say to ourselves, "Maybe I should give it more thought. Maybe I could make a better choice. What if I make the wrong choice?" This is the problem again of too many options. It leads to paralysis, but underneath lurks fear.

There was a foreign diplomate at the United Nations who couldn't speak English. When the lunch bill rang, he stood behind a man at the food counter and heard him order apple pie and coffee, so he ordered the same. For two weeks straight he had apple pie and coffee for lunch, so he decided to try something different. He listened to the guy ahead order a ham sandwich. "Ham sandwich," he said to the counter man. "White or rye?" asked the counter man. "Ham sandwich," the diplomate repeated. "White or rye?" the counter man asked. "Ham sandwich." Now the guy was really angry, "Look buddy" he said shaking his fist in the diplomats face, "do you want it on white or rye?" "Apple pie and coffee," the diplomate answered.

How many people have been kept constricted because of fear? "Don't ask me to try something like that. I could never do it." We wouldn't be normal if we never felt fear in the face of decisions. There are people among us today who are facing major decisions. The choices aren't clear cut; to choose either option will cause pain. Some here feel locked into an unfulfilling way of life. It's not that you can't decide to learn to be different . . . it's just that turning from what's familiar to what is unknown is so frightening.

"Choose this day whom you will serve." Joshua told the Israelites. You must make up your minds. Will you serve God or dumb pagan idols? One way leads to life, the other to nothing. Oh God, help us choose you so fear won't hold us back. If we're going to be afraid of anything, let it be of the consequences of not deciding. Instead of fearing what might go wrong, give us a sense of what we might miss if we are not prepared when you come. Choose this day whom you will serve. The blessings of God belong not to the passive, but the prepared. When we are clear about whom we serve, then we will make our choices supported by an underlying faith that we will be led where we should go, even though it may not be apparent.

This insight is a must to hold fast to in the months ahead as the Discernment Committee leads us to a decision we must make next May. At issue is the what and where of the church's ministry. Factors within the church and around it call for a decision. Years of experience and lots of study point to the conclusion that for the sake of Christ's ministry, there must be an intentional decision. NOT TO DECIDE IS NO LONGER AN OPTION. Yes, it will be an anxious time and probably involve some pain. Can you name any decision of consequence that isn't? But the daily turning to God prepares us for whatever the future holds and gives the spiritual resources to face it.

Decisions form us. Decisions frighten us, and some decisions are forced upon us. When the foolish young women asked the others for oil and they declined, it wasn't because they were hard or stingy. There are some things which can't be given away . . . like preparedness. You can't give another wisdom. That comes from experience. You can't give someone faith. That is the result of searching. Our call to worship says that God won't make your spirit grow, you must grow your own. The most important things that shape our lives aren't simply handed to us. No one can do your work for you. You can't borrow someone else's oil to get to the bridegroom's party.

What do I mean by forced decisions? Answer this . . . does life have meaning or not? This question forces a decision from you. Your opinion doesn't count. But by the way you live you will decide whether it is meaningful or meaningless. Is there a God or not? This question will force a decision from you. If you do, you will live as if God matters. How you view the world, where you place your ultimate trust, what you do with your money, how you treat others will reveal the decision you have made about God. The verdict will be your life . . . your life, not your opinions, will show if you have an invisible means of support.

There is another forced decision. You must decide whether Jesus is who he said, or the craziest person who ever lived. Secretes and Plato shaped the worlds thought. Michael Angelo enhanced our appreciation of beauty. Ghandi showed the power of non-violence. But what sets Jesus apart from all others is the claim he made for himself. You can't be neutral towards him. He asks everyone a questions . . . "Who do you say that I am?" He offers all and invitation. "Follow me." And every time we gather to worship this is the question we face. Some decisions force us to choose this day whom we will serve.

Will you stay with me for just one more thought? I want to say there is a finality to our decisions. There comes a point where you can no longer change your mind. The young ladies in the parable weren't shut out . . . they shut themselves out. By deciding not to be prepared, they were rejecting their chance to come to the party. At the Men's Retreat we talked about men that had made a profound influence upon us, then the comma, "Did we ever tell them?" T. Wayne Riemen was my professor, spiritual mentor, and friend, and I am so glad that on that day he lay in the intensive care ward I decided to tell him what I had long felt . . . "I love you." We were all able to identify those to whom we could no longer say what we wanted to say. Before today ends, please tell someone what they mean to you. Don't put off the important things always for tomorrow. Slap yourself every time you say, "I'll get around to it." Time is on our side only so long. There are so many opportunities, but there is also an inevitable finality. Not to decide is to decide.

On midnight, December 31, the year 999, Pope Silvester II celebrated Mass at old St. Peter's in Rome. Everyone thought the world was about to end. Some had given everything they owned to the poor before the mass began. People were sitting on sack cloth and ashes. They were lying on the floor with arms out stretched as though on a cross. At the moment the bells began ringing at midnight, some died from fright. But after the last peal when fire did not roar down from heaven, it was like waking up from a nightmare. People were weeping and laughing. Everyone embraced each other . . . man and woman, friend and foe, master and servant, and the bells of every church in Rome began to ring.

The question, you see, is whether we will decide to live with that kind of celebration and that kind of urgency, that sort of relating, now. The door to the party was open to the wise young women who were prepared for the bridegroom's arrival. So stay alert. You have no idea when he might arrive. Choose this day, choose every day whom you will serve.

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