Creekside Church Sermon of May 30, 2004 "The Intercessor" Romans 8:14-17, 26-27	Rev. David Bibbee
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For years I have waited for an invitation that has not come… not yet, anyway. I want to speak at a college baccalaureate service. There is no way I will be invited to be the commencement speaker. This honor is reserved for thinkers, movers, shakers, and headline makers. Baccalaureate is the best I could hope for.

At the Concord Band awards banquet, seniors took turns sharing their plans for the future. The girls cried a lot. One weepy senior in marching band said how much she had grown from the experience. "It changed my life. I never learned to play an instrument, but I loved playing with flags, and I had a great time playing with them in the color guard." I understood. I may not be commencement material, but I know I could wave a flag at baccalaureate.

My speech is already written. Typically, speakers try to "butter up" the grads. "Our world stands at the dawn of a new tomorrow. We know not what the future portends. Perhaps fair skies will herald unprecedented opportunity. But history has shown that the future belongs to the builders of strong foundations that withstand the unforeseen assault of forces wrought by time and circumstance. The world looks to you, the graduates of 2004, to worthily and with dignity carry the mantle that declares, "Here are we! We shall summons the resources of our generation to overcome the challenges that confront us at the start of the new millennium."

I won't say anything like that! Here is what I will say: "As I stand before you, the fine young men and women of this student body, I could say, as those before me, 'Generations of graduates that have gone before you are looking to you as the hope of tomorrow.' I will not say such a thing because I don't believe it! We will be in trouble if we leave saving the world up to you. Class of 2004, you are not the hope of the world! You're not the hope of tomorrow, or the next day, or any day! The sooner you come to terms with it, the better off you will be."

It will be my last baccalaureate address. Someone has to tell the truth before another class exits academia, thinking it is the salvation of the world, and that its achievements are all-important in the scheme of life. After taking them down a few notches, I will talk about hope. I will tell them that hope is a limitless source that intercedes for us when we have no idea what to do or say, or haven't a clue where we are headed. Hope is personified. Hope has a name-Jesus. He is the hope of the world… not thee.

Commencement coincides with the celebration of Pentecost. To grasp the significance of Pentecost let's go back to Genesis, to the story of the Tower of Babel. God halted humanity's grandiose plan to build a tower to heaven. Until this time, all people spoke the same language, but God created confusion by causing people to speak different languages. The workers couldn't understand each other; construction was halted, as well as communication between people.

In Acts 2, on the day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came upon the disciples, and they began speaking in other languages. Religious pilgrims from many different countries were present, and were amazed because everyone heard the disciple's message in their own language. The barrier to understanding was removed. The confusion of Babel was reversed to communication at Pentecost.

The Holy Spirit is God's gift to the church. In our passage from Romans, Paul tells us that the Spirit is also a gift to individual Christians. All who are led by the Spirit of God are sons and daughters of God… When we cry, "Abba! Father!" it is the Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God. and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ… When we call upon God, we do so as child calling upon their parent-- "Daddy!" The Holy Spirit is our link to the promise of God's presence.

Romans 8: 26 is a text I've committed to memory. The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words. I take comfort from this verse, first, because it tells me that I have a connection to God. A theologian described our distance from God as, "an infinite qualitative distinction." How is it possible that earthbound mortals can speak to the Lord God Almighty in heaven?

Have you ever spoken to an important, even famous person? You are very self-conscious, and in an effort to seem intelligent and poised, you say or do something really stupid. When Samantha graduated from Lehigh last May, the commencement speaker was Tim Russert, the host of NBC's "Face the Nation." One grad walked in front of Russert, received his diploma, jumped up to "click" his heels, and then fell head- first down the platform stairs on to the football field.

Romans tells us we can come to God with confidence as a child comes to her parent for what she needs. We don't have to worry about saying or doing something stupid. God wants a relationship with us. Through the Holy Spirit, God makes it possible for us to come to him.

But there are times when we try to pray and can't. We find ourselves in situations where we don't know what to pray for. We don't know whether to pray for someone's recovery or not. We face situations that necessitate decisions, but we have no idea which way to choose. Paul is right. We often do not know how to pray as we ought. We need help.

I conducted a funeral for a bright, attractive, intelligent, middle-aged mother who committed suicide. Her husband left her for someone else. She pleaded for him to come back, and grew more and more despondent when it was clear it was clear he would not. The day of the funeral, the sanctuary was packed. I wasn't fully in touch with my emotions until the family was ushered in… Marilyn's children, her father, her brothers, and her estranged husband. They looked like they were in a stupor. Their faces were empty and ashen.

My eyes began watering. There was a big rock in my throat. My tongue felt it was welded to the bottom of my mouth. A voice said, "Your words will not stand up to the enormity of this family's grief." Nothing had prepared me for such a moment. I didn't know how to speak or pray, as I ought. I closed my eyes as the organist played, "O God, Our Help in Ages Past," and prayed, "Help. Help me. Help them. Help me help them. NOW!"

God kept the promise of Pentecost. The Spirit interceded with tears, the rock, and feeling a measure of the family's pain. The Spirit interceded for me with sighs too deep for words. It was hard, but I was able to do what needed done by means of an invisible means of support. When we're in over our heads and cry out, "Abba! Father! we know it is the Spirit bearing witness with our spirit."

I was invited to a four-day healing prayer retreat for pastors at the Hermitage near Three Rivers, Michigan. It was led by a United Methodist pastor and psychologist from New York named Tilda Norborg. Nine pastors from different denominations were present, and Tilda spent four intensive hours with each of us.

One of the pastors had been hospitalized for severe depression. She had made a tough and necessary decision that upset three powerful men on the church board. They were what people in the black community call, "smilin' faces." They were pleasant in her presence, and then stabbed her in the back. They undermined her efforts. They spread rumors. They were determined to force her resignation. When she confronted them, they denied doing anything inappropriate. They said they were praying for her ministry. Though the majority of the church supported her, no one was willing to confront the ringleaders. Not only did she resign, she left the ministry altogether.

As she told her story to the group, Tilda pointed out that she talked about the men with no visible emotion. She said that she hurt, and was angry, and that she despised them for what they had done, but couldn't express her pain. Tilda attempted several means of opening her up, but none worked. In the process, the pastor told the group that her Mennonite mother taught her that it was a sin to be angry, and worse to express it. Tilda had us form a close prayer circle around her, and told her that as we prayed she would be pressing on areas in her neck and shoulders. "I don't want you to tell me what you feel with words. Make sounds." As we prayed, Marilyn began to wince. Then quiet tears. Then moaning, sobbing, and wailing. Then calm, then relaxation, then something she hadn't felt in a long time-peace.

The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words. Asking God for things, or praying for God to change a situation is a dimension of prayer. But the breadth and depth is much greater. It is the means by which we speak to God. It is the means of quieting the voices within us, so we can listen to what God wants for us and from us.

God loves us so much, and wants to be with us so much that through the Holy Spirit, God will do the work for us. It is like Verizon giving phone service, placing the calls, and doing the talking for you… for free!

One of the things which non-Christians look for in those who are is authenticity. They don't need bumper sticker cliché theology like, "God isn't dead. I talked with him yesterday!" They don't need Christians who have answers for everything and no doubts about anything. Some Christians talk as though their faith has given them great insight and clarity into every area of life. Nothing is uncertain. Nothing is ambiguous. There is only black and white, no gray.

Seasoned Christians know that life isn't always so clear. We can believe with all our heart, but sometimes God seems distant and giving us the silent treatment. Good things and bad things happen for no apparent reason. Those who claim no faith and pay no attention to God have a, "bowl of cherries" life, while those who do battle with one thing after another. We are not always faithful or truthful. There are lots of times we can't string two sentences of a prayer together without drifting off into distraction.

But we have a Pentecostal promise. Whether we feel in touch with the Holy Spirit or not, we are the children of God, and all we need to do is cry, "Abba! Daddy! Father!" It is the Intercessor at work in us.

At the start of my ministry internship in 1980, I nearly convinced myself that I wasn't cut out to be a pastor. Every week I encountered situations I thought I was ill equipped to handle. I blundered through some things. I failed at others. But I also learned that I am not always the best judge of blunders and failures.

Then one day I read an old book by the great preacher, Harry Emerson Fosdick. He described situations he faced as a pastor, which were overwhelming. Before he knocked at the door of a home that had been visited by a tragic death, or before sitting down with church leaders to deal with a difficult church problem, he said a prayer. It was a simple one that reminded him that the outcomes were not all up to him. He prayed, "Now, Lord."

It doesn't all depend on us. Our part is to make ourselves available to the Intercessor. The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words.

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