Nov. 16, 2014
1 Thes 5:1-11
Matthew 25:14-30

I want to tell you two stories. Then I’ll tell you why I’m sharing them. By the way, they both come from a book called The Spirituality of Imperfection, which I would recommend to anyone. The basic premise is that we are by nature imperfect beings; we are dependent beings, and the greatest thing we can do for ourselves is to stop acting like we are not.

Clifford was leaning against the fence, enjoying a beautiful view from the top of the Grand Canyon, when the wooden posts suddenly ripped from their cement moorings. Seconds later, Clifford was plunging down into the abyss.

            Halfway to the bottom his desperate arm-waving helped Clifford catch and clutch the branch of a scrubby tree that grew from the canyon wall. Grasping, grasping, he looked both up and down. No way could he climb that sheer cliff, even if he could swing his body toward the wall. But below yawed the chasm, unbroken by any other tree or holding place. To fall would be to die, horribly crushed on the rocks below. No one had seen him fall, and he hung there out of sight, knowing the wind would scatter his weak voice no matter how loudly he shouted.

            Desperate, Clifford cried out to the heavens: “God help me!” Hearing his own trembling voice, he wailed again, “Please God help me.”

            To Clifford’s amazement, he heard an immediate answer. “All right,” came the voice. The initial warmth Clifford felt turned to a chill wind gripping his body as the voice continued: “Let go.”

            Looking down, Clifford saw the huge boulders waiting below, and he knew again that if he let go he would surely die. Let go? He thought. “But God, you don’t understand!” he yelled up. “I’m too far up, I’ll…”

            “Let go,” the voice repeated.

            Silence filled the canyon. Then, in a weak, terrified voice Clifford called out, “Is there anyone else up there?”[1]

Here’s the second story. And, by the way, the authors use wisdom from the 12-step tradition in addition to wisdom in the folkstories and faiths of cultures from all over the world in order to highlight their theme.

The devotee knelt to be initiated into discipleship. The guru whispered the sacred mantra into his ear, warning him not to reveal it to anyone.

            “What will happen if I do?” asked the devotee.

            Said the guru, “Anyone to whom you reveal the mantra will be liberated from the bondage of ignorance and suffering, but you yourself will be excluded from discipleship and suffer damnation.”

            No sooner had he heard those words than the devotee rushed to the marketplace, collected a large crowd around him, and repeated the sacred mantra for all to hear.

            The disciples later reported this to the guru and demanded that the man be expelled from the monastery for his disobedience.

            The guru smiled and said, “He has no need of anything I can teach. His action has shown him to be a guru in his own right.”[2]

About Clifford the authors write, “The story is corny, except that it is true; true of every one of us in the sense that it conveys a powerful spiritual truth: So long as we cling, we are bound.” And that’s why I share it. In what ways are we bound? In what ways does faith mean letting go and trusting, and what is it that we need to let go of?

I share the second story because the devotee strikes me as one who has learned to let go. The devotee is free, and not just free to do the right thing, but free to trust that his own well-being, his own sense of self and identity, is rooted in deeper things than another’s judgment.

I had a chance to meet the Conference Minister for the Connecticut Conference of the UCC. He visited our polity class last week and he spoke to our group about the leadership needs within the denomination. By the way, to the extent that first impressions matter, I have to say that with him I really believe that the Conference is in good hands. He was articulate and passionate and informed and obviously very committed to a greater church that is committed to doing the work of Christ.

He said, “The UCC needs leaders who are willing to fail. We need congregations that are willing to fail. What if each congregation were committed to trying a new ministry each quarter? Most of those ministries would fail. But, who cares? Failure gives us an opportunity to learn. It gives us an opportunity to do new things and to do things differently. What we cannot do is the same thing we’ve always done. What we cannot do is stay the same. What we cannot do is allow ourselves to be paralyzed by fear. When the church lets that happen our mission becomes the life-draining work of maintaining an institution rather than the life giving work of following Christ into the world and changing lives.”

The parable of the talents that we read just a little while ago really isn’t about money. Two servants invested what was given to them and made their investments double. One, out of fear, took what he was given and buried it under a pile of dirt. The parable is about living and how we invest our lives. As Jesus makes his way to the cross, as he trusts his way through death to resurrection, Jesus wants his disciples to know what a life worth living looks like.

Writes, John Buchanon, editor of The Christian Century, “The greatest risk of all, it turns out, is not to risk anything, not to care deeply and profoundly enough about anything to invest deeply, to give your heart away and in the process risk everything. The greatest risk of all, it turns out, is to play it safe, to live cautiously and prudently. “[3]  The real sin of that third servant came from his fear. It was the sin of sloth, the sin of investing nothing of himself.

An old family friend and mentor of mine was fond of quoting Luther, “Sin boldly, but even more boldly, know that you are forgiven,” he would say.

By that I took him to mean, “Live boldly, love boldly, give generously. Forgive when its an option, and dare to request it when you might. Care, invest yourself, trust God with what you do, because, you see, God can handle it when we fail. But, what a shame, what a waste it is, when we do not try.

[1] Kurtz & Ketcham, Spirituality of Imperfection, page 164

[2] Page 86

[3] Feasting on the Word, Year A Volume 4, page 310.