Watching the Feet of the Faithful
The Rev. Mark Sherwindt, Pastor
Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church
Epiphany 5: February 3-4, 2007
For Isaiah, it was a vision in the temple. “I saw the Lord. I saw the Lord. He was high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. The angel cried, 'Holy.' The angels cried, 'Holy.' The angels cried, 'Holy is the Lord.' For Paul, it was his encounter with the Risen Lord on the road to Damascus. He was blinded by the light. His name was changed, and so was his direction in life, from an avowed and aggressive persecutor of the Church to the Apostle who would take the place of Judas among the inner circle of Jesus' chosen Twelve. For Peter, it was this incredible haul of fish, when he realized that this friend whom he called teacher rabbi, and master was actually the Lord. “When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' feet, saying, 'Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinner.'”
Finding oneself in the presence of utter holiness, at a loss for words, filled only with feelings of unworthiness and helplessness: these, too, are a part of our encounters with God. Listen to Isaiah's words, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips in the midst of a people of unclean lips! Yet, mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” And then we can hear that well-known response, found in Isaiah and in the songs of the church: “Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard you calling in the night. I will go Lord, if you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart.” [With One Voice, #752]
So, what was it like for you when God called you into service? Was it a great vision of God in the temple? Was it an encounter with the Risen Lord on the road to wherever you thought you were going? Was it falling down to your knees after hauling in an incredible catch of whatever it was that you were fishing for? What was it like for you when God called you into service? For me, it was a birthday card that I received from my friend and pastor with a check to cover the first year tuition fees at the seminary. “Now, get out of that Lazy Boy, fill out the application, and head off to the seminary!” And that's what I did. Well, it wasn't really a Lazy Boy, but I was becoming one, and I needed a push.
For Lester Mohler, as we found out with his visit last November, it was a chance encounter here at Zion. He had just gotten out of the service after the war, and someone from Zion asked, “Why don't you go to Capital?” Zion had a small scholarship to help with tuition, and the rest is, well, the rest is world-renown humanitarian work with Operation Smile. I guess what I'm saying is that maybe it's not as much about the hoopla that gets us on the road but what we do once we're on our way. If I were waiting for that vision of God in the temple, or my encounter with the Risen Lord on the road, or falling to my knees at Jesus' feet after having hauled in an incredible catch of whatever it was I was fishing for, then I'd have missed Gene's gesture, and Lester might have missed Zion's encouragement, along with the doors that God was trying to open so that we could grow into the call to service.
If it's strong beginnings we're seeking, then I attended one such beginning yesterday in the surroundings of St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Akron, where important people from around the nation gathered to join in the Service of Installation of Pastor Elizabeth Amy Eaton, now the newly-installed Bishop of our Northeastern Ohio Synod. Our Presiding Bishop of the ELCA, Mark Hanson, preached a powerful sermon, and with his presence acknowledged the importance of the day, which boasted the presence of many bishops - from surrounding synods in Michigan, Indiana, Kentucky, and two in Ohio, and from our ecumenical partners in the Episcopal Church USA, the Presbyterian Church USA, the United Methodist Church, and the Cleveland Diocese of the Roman Catholic Church.
No doubt about it, it was an impressive event for all who were present; but I've got to admit that I found out more about our call to service by reading the lime-green edition of The Zion Herald. There it was on page 3 under the headline, “A Word of Thanks from Steve Ross.” It was just a simple line, but it hit the nail right on its head. Steve writes, “I hope that you've received a copy of our new directory. It looks great and we're glad you're a part of it. We're glad you're a part of us. The love we share is Zion's greatest strength.” That's the line. “The love we share is Zion's greatest strength.” That's our call. That's God's gift. It seems so simple that we might have just glossed over it. But we shouldn't take it for granted. And we certainly shouldn't assume that it just happened without much effort. Sure, you can't make people love you; but you don't become a loving community by accident. You become a loving community by caring - caring about our Lord, caring about our neighbors and friends, and caring about our Lord's call to serve our neighbors and friends. You can read about it in the expanded version of our Mission Statement, which is right there on the back side of the News Page: “Gathered by God's word, empowered by Christ's presence, we are called to invite our friends and neighbors to join us in our mission to grow in love and service by grace.” That's our call - to grow in love among ourselves and to share it with others through service. Again, it's not about the hoopla that gets us on the road, but what we do once we're on the way.
This month's edition of The Lutheran made this point in a different way by recounting the historic witness and memorable writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer - pastor, poet, peace-maker, prisoner, and professor. He was martyred, one of the last prisoners of war to be executed by the Nazis, a few days after their defeat in April of 1945, at the ripe old age of 39. It's quite a story. ["More than a Martyr," The Lutheran, February, 2007, pp. 24-26] Bonhoeffer recounts a conversation he had years earlier with a French priest here in America. “We were asking ourselves what we wanted to do with our lives. He said that he would like to become a saint. I said that I would like to learn to have faith.” Both answers seemed pious enough for clergy-types having a conversation about vocations in life. For a long time Bonhoeffer didn't realize the implications of his desire, which goes to show that you should be careful what you wish for, because God has a penchant for surprising us with answers to our prayers. “I thought I could acquire faith by trying to live a holy life, or something like that.” You know the drill - personal prayer, bible study, pious thoughts, solitude with God and visions of heavenly bliss.
But Bonhoeffer realized that that wasn't the point of holiness or faith. “I discovered … later that it is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith.” It isn't longing for heaven, or taking harp lessons for the great beyond. His focus had shifted. He had already been imprisoned by the Nazis, when it became clear to him. He had written some great books, like Life Together and The Cost of Discipleship. But it was now becoming clearer. I had to “completely abandon my attempt to make something of myself… and live, unreservedly, in the duties, problems, successes, and failures of each day…. In so doing, we are, in effect, throwing ourselves into the arms of God, taking seriously not our own struggles and sufferings but those in the world of God, not our own strivings for ourselves but those of God for the world. That, I think, is faith” - metanoia in the Greek, conversion, becoming a Christian: called by grace, sent to serve.
Bishop Mark Hanson did a great job preaching yesterday. His theme was Called by God and Sent to Serve. He shared a lot of stories that added humor and insight to his message. He mentioned that a colleague present at yesterday's Service of Installation had previously served as a fellow bishop in Minnesota, and was now serving as Bishop of the East Ohio Conference in the United Methodist Church right up the street from us on Cleveland Avenue. Anyway, Bishop John Hopkins had presented Bishop Hanson with an unforgettable gift at his Service of Installation. It was an unusual sculpture, not your typical Praying Hands with the proverbial prayer - “Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change those tings I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” That would have been a great gift; but that wasn't what he gave him. Instead, he gave the unusual gift of a clay foot. That's right, a foot. He explained it this way. You have been called to be a Bishop, and sent to serve God's people. I'm going to be watching your feet. Far more important than the words you say to your people, far more important than the prayers you pray with your pastors will be where you lead the church as one sent to serve. I'll be watching your feet to see if you'll be standing with the poor. I'll be watching your feet, to see if you're serving those in need. Will you sit comfortably with the privileged or stand with the oppressed? Will you be content to enjoy the comforts of the office or be found spreading the Good News with those who need it? The verse attached to the gift was another classic from Isaiah. “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring the Good News to God's people.” [Isaiah 52:7]
Our Gospel today is about feet. It's about the basics of being called with Jesus' words, “Follow me.” It's about the basics of being sent, “They left everything and followed him.” Bishop Hanson ended his remarks by referring to the new and improved dismissal in the new settings for worship that have just been published. We now have several choices, but all of them tell us to Go. “Go in peace. Serve the Lord.” “Go in peace. Share the Good News.” “Go in peace. Remember the poor.” Our response remains the same “Thanks be to God.” But it's not about the words. It's about our feet. Go and serve, and share, and remember. Let your feet do the walking - remembering the poor, working for peace, celebrating the Good News, and, most of all, learning how to follow, with Peter, James, and John … in Jesus' name. Amen.