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Creekside Church
Sermon of February
3, 2008
"When
God Gives Life-Giving Fear"
Matthew
17:1-9
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Rev.
David Bibbee
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One
person's adventure is another person's terror.
On our return
from North Dakota, Sue and I had a layover at Union Station in Chicago.
We had just a two-hour window to eat and return at boarding time
for the train to South Bend, and it was the start of the rush hour.
We hopped into a cab and I told the driver our destination. "We
don't have much time to eat and get back," I said. I wanted
to say it like in the movies -- "1300 Ontario… and
step on it!" No such instructions were necessary. Our driver,
or should I say, our test pilot, stepped on it.
He made a sharp
left into two lanes of traffic. The tires of the oncoming cars screeched
as drivers slammed their brakes, blasted their horns, and made evocative
hand gestures. It didn't faze our driver. He bobbed and weaved and
squeezed across multiple lanes of traffic like Muhammad Ali in the
ring. As a lane opened, he put the peddle to the floor. He laid
on the horn at every delivery truck, taxi, and pedestrian in his
path, even if they had the right of way. Five cars were lined up
in front of us to make a left turn and he honked at all of them
to get moving. At a relaxed pace, it would have taken fifteen minutes
to reach our destination. We made it in seven!
One person's
adventure is another person's terror. I thought the ride was thrilling.
Sue's back, arms, and legs were stiff as steel the entire ride.
The color in her face was gone. Her eyes were "bulging"
like Marty Feldman's. Her knuckles were white and the fingers on
my left hand were purple from her vice grip. I thought the Jaws
of Life would be necessary to free my hand. It took some coaxing
to get her into another taxi for the ride back to Union Station.
One person's
climb to the summit of a mountain is another person's terror. There
was never a dull moment following Jesus. Every day was an adventure
packed with possibilities and risks. Jesus showed up one morning
with mountain climbing gear slung over his shoulders, and told Peter,
James, and John, "Let's go, boys!"
I doubt if the
thought of scaling a mountain thrilled them. They were fishermen.
They were casters, not climbers. They worked with depths, not heights.
They got dizzy when they were 20' above sea level. By the time Jesus
got them to the summit of Mount Tabor they were already nervous
wrecks. The comedian Stephen Wright wondered, "What happens
when you get scared half to death twice?" Peter, James, and
John were about to find out.
Throughout the
ages mountains have had special significance in the religions of
the world. The closest point of contact between the flat earth and
highest heaven was a mountaintop. Seekers scaled summits to encounter
God, to listen to God, and gain insight into the holy tasks that
awaited them.
As Jesus and
the disciples climbed he likely told the story of Moses' encounter
with God on Mount Sinai. There, Moses was given his mission and
the stone tablets of the covenant. Being in the radiant presence
of God, Moses appearance changed. A poet said, "Flakes of light
were clinging to his face." When he came down he had to cover
his face with a veil because people were afraid to look at him.
By stirring
the memory of that moment, Jesus primed the disciples for a dazzling
drama that was about to take place. But before we proceed, let's
consider the emotion of fear.
What scares
you? Speaking in public? Spiders and snakes? Confined spaces? The
dentist? The dark? My knees knock when I'm in a high place with
no supports abound me. At the Grand Canyon I had an unnerving sensation
that some force was pulling me to the edge. I was all right at the
overlooks where there were guardrails, but hiking down into the
canyon I hugged the inside wall of the trail.
There was a
big spike in church attendance the Sunday after 9/11. Our country's
illusion of security had been shattered. Fear drove people to churches
grasping for something safe and sure to hold on to. Fear kept people
from flying. Fear made people suspicious of their mail and the possibility
there was anthrax in it. And as the days passed and the immediate
threat was over, church attendance returned to normal, and people
went on with their lives.
Fear is a response
to things that happen around us. But fear also comes from within
-- the fear of rejection, the fear of not having enough, fear of
the unknown, fear of the future. Fear makes us up tight, on guard,
suspicious, and it keeps us hidden inside protective little bubbles.
Fear is the enemy of faith.
Life lived in
fear diminishes us. It destroys trust. It wrecks relationships.
It distorts our understanding of God. It blocks drawing close to
God because we fear that God is a punitive judge, and not a loving
father as Jesus said. Fear prevents us from cashing in on the life
abundant that Jesus promised.
But fear is
also life giving and life changing. It is the fear that comes from
an unexpected, unbidden encounters with God. In Holy Week we sing,
"Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…"
This is life-giving fear. It's the experience described in Hebrews
13:10-- "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of
the living God."
But I don't
see fear on your faces come Sunday morning… unless a Chicago
taxi brought you. I see expressions of genuine gladness, and I see
looks that say, "Been here. Done that." I see smiles.
I see sadness and sorrow. I see comfort and I see contentment. I
see anger and I see boredom. But none of you look like you're waiting
for the hammer to fall.
While the disciples
were still trying to catch their breath, Jesus' appearance was altered.
His face shined bright as the sun. His clothes turned brilliant
white. Moses, the great Lawgiver and Elijah the great prophet stood
by him. A cloud enveloped them and a booming voice like James Earl
Jones declared the words heard at Jesus' baptism, "This
is my beloved son with whom I am well pleased. LISTEN TO HIM."
This is the language of poetry -- the language we resort to
when trying to describe something luminous, mysterious, and profound.
It's an attempt to describe the indescribable.
What Peter,
James and John experienced was God's glory. We equate glory with
fame and celebrity status. Glory is what the winners of the Super
Bowl will possess. But this isn't the Bible's definition. The Hebrew
word for it is havod, which means "heavy" or "weight."
The glory of God is God's weighty presence. The experience
of God's presence isn't a warm fuzzy. It is to encounter the massiveness,
the enormity, and the unfathomable being of God.
Given the time
Peter and the rest of the disciples had been with Jesus, they probably
thought they had a handle on him. They thought they had been with
Jesus long enough to figure him out. It was hard for them (and us)
to be in awe of what we think we understand. We would do
well to remember we aren't on equal footing with God.
There is a Jewish
saying that goes: "God is not your uncle. God is not your mascot.
God is an earthquake." When we can't manipulate, control, or
wrap our intellect something we fear it. If we can't harness it,
put it in the corral, and domesticate it into something useful for
our life or faith, we want to keep our distance.
When Jesus said,
"Fear not," he wasn't trying to talk the disciples out
of life giving fear. The disciples fell flat on their faces in response
to the clear, startling voice -- "This is my Son. Listen to
him. It you pay attention to nothing else in life, pay attention
to him and be in awe of who he is." It was a fearful moment
because the command involved more than listening. It required following.
It required submitting themselves to the scrutiny of the Savior.
It meant daily conversion from their way to his way.
Madeleine L'Engle
wrote: "As I read and reread the Gospels, the startling event
of the Transfiguration is one of the highlights. You'd think that
in the church year we would celebrate it with as much excitement
and joy as we do Christmas and Easter. We give it lip service when
we talk about "mountain top experiences," but mostly we
ignore it, and my guess is that it is because we are afraid.
We long for
an encounter with God because we imagine it to be a pleasant experience
that will fill us with joy and ecstasy and make us feel tingly all
over. It can happen that way. But when God comes to us, the meeting
is for more than a "spiritual high." Most of the time
I suspect the meeting with God is demanding.
Be careful what
you pray for. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the
living God. God may intrude upon your settled life and tell you
that changes are in store. You may be told to pay more attention
to your spouse and not take them for granted. You may be told to
do something about that unresolved issue with your son that can't
be done without pain. You may be convicted to do something about
an addiction. You may be told to forgive someone for what you think
is an unforgivable act. You may be lead to conscientious stand that
costs your job. You may be told to pack your bags and trust God
to lead you to a new life. You may be called to make a sacrifice.
You may be called to step up and serve in a capacity for which you
don't feel competent.
When Andrew
Young was the United States Ambassador to the United Nations in
the Carter administration, his youngest daughter experienced God
in a life changing way. Unlike her siblings who were honors students,
she did enough to get by. They had solid career goals. She wanted
to be a dancer, a singer, or an actor. While the other children
capitulated to his fatherly authority, she rebelled.
He was taken
aback when she announced, "Daddy, I'm going to Uganda to work
with Habitat for Humanity." He asked her, "Do you realize
that Idi Amin wrecked Uganda?" "Yes." "Do you
understand there is no government in Uganda?" "Yes."
"Do you know that anybody can do anything they want to you
in Uganda and there is no recourse against them?" "Yes."
"And you still want to go to Uganda?" "I AM going
to Uganda."
Days later,
Andrew Young stood helpless and frightened as his little girl boarded
a plane and left for Uganda. With half jest and seriousness he said,
"I wanted her to be a respectable Christian… not a real
one!"
It's a fearful
thing to fall into the hands of the living God… A fearful,
life-giving thing.
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