Theological Truth: Life with Christ means going beyond our comfort zones bringing the Gospel of Love into unfamiliar places and uncomfortable spaces.
Come Holy Spirit and kindle in us the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit and we shall be created, and you shall renew the face of the earth. Amen.
Shannon and I have many things in common: lots of shared interests, very similar values. But there is, however, one glaring exception. She has a lifelong commitment to physical fitness and rigorous, regular exercise. Me? Not so much. The mere thought of all that discomfort — increased heart rate, shortness of breath, aching muscles — seems like something to be avoided. Tolerated if necessary, like if you were being chased by a murderous sociopath perhaps. But voluntarily and frequently chosen? That doesn’t come as naturally to me. I think of myself as being built for comfort, not for speed.
Seeking comfort. Avoiding pain. Choosing security. Minimizing danger. This all makes sense for both individuals and institutions, communities and nations. Times of ease and rest are essential and life-giving. God knows we need comfort and security. Sundays are the Divinely commanded day of sabbath rest. But the body of Christ was never intended to lead a risk-free life of uninterrupted comfort and leisure.
In fact, it’s more helpful for church-folk to think of the rest and reassurance of Sunday as preparation for the work ahead of us. That’s why at least one church has a sign above the exit door that reads, “Our liturgy has ended, our service resumes.” Or as Lutheran Bishop Lyle Miller reminded his flock, “The church is ‘not a luxury liner, granting passage and comfort to all who qualify and clamber aboard’ but rather ‘like a rescuing lifeboat, sometimes listing, or even leaking, but always guided by the captain, Jesus, at the helm.'” (Bishop Lyle G. Miller in opening worship at the Sierra Pacific Synod assembly, 1991, quoted in “The Lutheran,” June 19, 1991, page 38).
Life with Christ is not one, long smooth, all-inclusive cruise to heaven. We are called to the lifeboats, not the lido deck, trusting that Jesus is at the helm ….
Or in the stern. Asleep. The story of Jesus calming the storm from Mark’s Gospel is packed with curious details which are instructive for leading faithful lives. One thing to notice is that Jesus initiates the idea of going the other side, which is scandalously like saying, “Let’s go to the Gentiles, the other people, those not like us, those who are supposed to be separate from us.” Jesus is pushing the boat out. Jesus is willing to “go there” … to them … aware that God’s love knows no boundaries or borders.
What’s unusual is that Jesus does this just when his mission in Galilee is really taking hold. In fact, if you read the first four chapters of Mark, you can see that the crowds continue to grow, pushing Jesus to the edge of the Sea of Galilee.
One time the crushing, pushing crowd at the shoreline necessitates his using a boat as a floating pulpit, and a foreshadowing that the gospel is destined to travel. It’s almost as if Mark is telling us that this good news can’t be contained. The old wineskins are bursting with this new wine and it’s flowing to all of God’s people. So, Jesus, at the end of the day, at the height of his popularity, leaves the comfort of the adoring crowds and pushes further, “Let us go across to the other side.”
Jesus isn’t settling for the comfort of the familiar, he’s seeking the will of God. For us, as a congregation and as followers of Jesus, this is an important reminder of our purpose. Do we see ourselves as passengers on a luxury liner, or the crew of a lifeboat? Are we resting in our chaise lounges, busying over the deck chairs, or are we seeking and serving Christ in all persons and striving for peace and justice among all people? Are we settling for the comfort of the familiar, or are we willing to set sail for the other side, despite the risks and discomforts inherent in setting out into unfamiliar territory?
Back in 2021, at our first Vestry/Staff retreat, Fr. Roger Bowen introduced a prayer, attributed to Sir Francis Drake, that illustrates this Gospel imperative of pushing beyond our comfort zones:
Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true.
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.
Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.
It’s what you could call a “disturbing” prayer:
-- Difficult to pray, yet essential if we are to be the body of Christ in the
world today.
— Frightening to say, especially when things are going well.
I’m more likely to linger in the comfort of the familiar hymns, the predictable
liturgy, the company of the like-minded. And yet, there’s Jesus, leaning
forward, pushing the boat out, “Let’s go to the other side, despite the dangers of
the open waters and the likelihood of life-threatening storms.” Crossing to the other side is always a dangerous undertaking. The disciples discover that likelihood soon enough. The wind rises and the seas get rough. Even the seasoned fisherman are scared for their lives. “Do you not care that we are perishing?!” Jesus not only cares, but he also possesses the power to save us. It’s a terrifying power that calms the storm yet disturbs the disciples. They ask with terrified awe, “Who then is this that even the wind and the sea obey him?” This isn’t a power that is possible for them to grasp, nor should they! None of us are capable of gripping this power, but rather we witness ourselves in its life-saving grip and it is there that we find the courage to continue the voyage of faith. As the disturbing prayer of Sir Frances Drake concludes:
Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push us into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.
This is an appropriate time of the year to be thinking of both the work of proclaiming the Way of God’s love and the storms we inevitably face as a result. Today begins the 81st General Election of the Episcopal church with clergy and laity convening to do the business of the Episcopal Church including the election of a new Presiding Bishop. The Church, as it has in every generation, is facing some stormy seas. Our country is also between the national holidays of Juneteeth and Independence Day, two different days reminding us of the sacredness of freedom, the suffering required to secure it, and the importance of celebrating each time it gets extended to more of God’s
people.
It is also a reminder that the work of God’s kingdom continues. May we seek God’s will, rather than our own comfort. May we have the courage to pray,
Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly. Lead us to venture on wider seas where
even the storms become opportunities to witness the mastery of your steadfast
love and redemptive power.
Sermon preached by The Rev. AJ Heine on June 23, 2024, the fifth Sunday after Pentecost, at Trinity Episcopal Church, Staunton, Virginia.
