January 28, 2007

January 28, 2007

“Living Despite Limitations”

Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-16

The story is told of a man who moved to a cabin in a remote wilderness. As the sharp edge of winter cut ac= ross the landscape, his supply of firewood ran low. Now, he was a man who liked warm f= ires but didn’t like to chop wood. As the cabin grew cold, he went out back and pulled off a few siding boards to kindle a fire. The glowing fire warmed him but the cabin seemed colder than before. More boards came off outside for a larger fire inside. In a few = days, the man cursed the weather, the drafty cabin and the stove and finally moved away.

There’s a parable of life in that story. We can’t keep our house warm if we use its siding for firewood. Or, to use the familiar saying: “You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.” But, of course, we try. We don’t want to accept life’s limitations, the kind that the Apostle Paul suggests in our Scripture lesson where he says, “. . . grace was given to each of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift.” So often, though, we’re not satisfied with having different gifts, we want to have all of them. Keeping this in mind, I want to sh= are three things with you this morning as we consider “Living Despite Limitations.”

The first is that life includes limits. It’s understood that when I = choose this, I must give up that. Wh= en I decide to go there, I have to surrender staying here. I can’t have money in the ba= nk while spending it (cash reserve accounts, credit cards and the federal government notwithstanding). Restraints are built into human existence and acceptance of them is a mark of maturity.

There are always limits in the choice= s we must make. Robert Frost captu= red it well in his poem, “The Road Not Taken,” where he describes the dilemma of choosing at a fork in the road which path to take. Do you remember the words?

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could=

To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other.

That’s a daily happening, always involving things great and small: from choices on= the restaurant menu to the color and pattern of the living room couch; from the university in which to enroll to the vacation spot we shall visit; from mar= king our ballot in the voting booth to the career we shall pursue; from taking a stand on a controversial issue to deciding whether to get married. A “yes” to this means a “no” to something else. Jesus couldn’t stay in Galilee and go down to Jerusalem. Paul couldn’t enjoy being wi= th his friends in Ephesus and fulfill his desire = to preach in Rome. Mary of Bethany couldn’t bak= e bread, fetch water from the well, and sit at Jesus’ feet—even if her sister, Martha, implied that she could.&nb= sp; It’s always one or the other.= We can’t have it both ways.

There are also limits to our dreams and ambitions. When we’re young, our dreams= are big and exciting and we believe we’ll realize them all. We’ll have our own prestigio= us law firm, be a famous surgeon, a media superstar, president of the corporation,= a Nobel-prize-winning scientist, sing like Whitney Houston, dance like Fred Astaire, write like Tom Clancy, paint like Andrew Wyeth and play golf like = Tiger Woods. Every couple I counsel= for marriage assures me that theirs is going to be the ideal and perfect one. I don’t argue with such drea= ming nor do I put down such ambition and idealism. I’d rather have an idealist = over a cynic any day.

Yet those who have weathered the turnings of the seasons know that between the = dream and the reality “falleth the shadow,” as one writer observed. Along about age thirty-five that s= hadow descends, and we learn that we don’t possess the gifts we imagined we would, that we’re not going to sing, write, paint or play golf like anyone but ourselves. This is= the time when we must saddle our dreams and accept the fact that some of them w= ill not come true, that certain ambitions will not be met.

An article from Inside Sports enti= tled, “The Worst Job in Baseball,” points up what I’m trying to say:

Dick Tidrow didn’t plan on spen= ding the best years of his life being a relief pitcher. He certainly didn’t expect p= eople to start calling him “Dirt” Tidrow. One minute he was the greatest pit= cher to chuck for the Mt. Eden Monarchs in Hayward<= /st1:City>, California, and the next he was sitting = in a bullpen in the Bronx. He was supposed to be a major leag= ue starter, a leading man in everybody’s fantasy, a star. So what was he doing here in the bullpen? What happened to tho= se dreams of winning the Cy Young award, dreams of the lucrative contract as a free agent, dreams of public acclaim reserved for the super heroes in sport= s?

Well, you and I kn= ow what happened—nothing more than the realization that not every major league pitcher becomes a Nolan Ryan. Some are assigned the duties of a relief pitcher and a seat in the bullpen. Not all dreams come = true and many are changed by circumstances.&nbs= p; Just ask Randy Johnson.

The final limitation in life, of course, is death. This great equalizer comes to all = of us, and no matter how much our culture may try to disguise it and no matter how much we may try to deny it, we must at last face it. And when we do, then the questions= and yearnings emerge, “What is it that finally abides? What happens to the unfinished wor= k and incomplete plans we’ve made?” There are limits in life= , but are they friend or foe, blessing or curse, tragic or creative? That, of course, depends and leads= me to the next point.

There’s a difference between life’s limitations and the limitations we impose= on life. Life can be defeating for us when we limit it by our negative attitu= des, by our complete disregard for others and by our failure to trust God. Faith is not the acceptance of centuries-old traditions but an attitude of trust that grows from within. This attitude of faith, this outlo= ok on life, this way of dealing with and understanding the world in which we live= , is always nurtured in a positive way as we trust God with our living and our dying.

One woman, a friend in a church I previously served, used to say, “Jim, l= ife is too short to be miserable.” She was right! It̵= 7;s too brief to waste it in fueling our prejudices, in building walls between = us and keeping others in their places. Life is too short for hatred and meanness, for cutting people off, f= or ranking people as superior and inferior.&n= bsp; Life is too short for disrespect and shabby treatment of others, for sick humor at the expense of others, for stereotyping and a swaggering disregard of the feelings and needs of others. Life is too short for nursing grie= vances and planning revenge, for keeping score and getting even, for placing blame= and making excuses. Life is too s= hort for posturing, for defensive pride that usurps the rights of others and presumes one’s authority as final.

When Christian Herter was running hard for a second term as governor of Massachusetts, h= e was scheduled one night to attend a church barbecue. It had been a busy day and he hadn’t the time to eat lunch, so when he arrived at the church he was famished!

As Governor Herter moved down the serving line, he held out his plate to the w= oman serving chicken. She put a pi= ece on his plate and turned to the next person in line.

“Pardon me,” said the governor. “But do you mind if I have another piece of chicken?”

“Sorry,” the woman replied, “I’m only allowed to give one piece to each person.”

“But, I’m starved,” the governor pleaded.

“Sorry,” said the woman matter-of-factly. “One piece per customer.”

Now, you need to understand that Herter was generally an unassuming man, but he decided that he would pull rank this one time. And so he said, “Do you know= who I am? “I’m the gove= rnor of this state.”

The woman didn’t blink an eye. “And do you know who I am?” she asked. “I’m the lady in charg= e of the chicken! Next!”

Life is too short for power struggles and arrogant comparisons. God created life to be shared with others and gives us the capacity and the power in Jesus Christ to love one another, and love is too wonderful to miss when we bully others to get our = own way. Instead, Paul encourages= us to “lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all lowliness and meekness, with patience, forbearing one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”=

Whether the limits we have in life are friend or foe, blessing or curse, tragic or creative, depends on whether we are imposing our own limitations on life.

Finally, let’s realize that life can derive much meaning from the limits it imposes upon us, despite them and, often, because of them. “Teach us to number our days= that we may get a heart of wisdom,” declared the Psalmist. “If any want to become my followers,” said Jesus, “let them deny themselves and take up t= heir cross and follow me.” “You cannot serve God and wealth . . . Render to Caesar the th= ings that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s . . . En= ter through the narrow gate.” Then = our Lord told that delightful parable of the talents that declared that it was = not how many talents one had but how they were used.

While we may resent restrictions, they’re the means by which life comes ali= ve for us. Without death, we wouldn’t be as eager to live now.&nb= sp; When we face the fact that some day we’re going to die, the present moment is filled with an extraordinary glory and an urgency that ma= kes it all the more vital. Those = who have faced death have a different look in their eyes and a different attitu= de about values; about all the hurrying and scurrying we do, about how much ti= me we waste. Having realized this limit, the Apostle Paul cried out, “If we live, we live to the Lord, = and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, = we are the Lord’s.” = Until we’ve faced the inevitable with faith, we cannot begin to really live= .

Likewise, until we define our gifts and strengths, we don’t know what they are or who we are. Until= we accept what shall never be ours= can we make the most of what, by God’s grace, is ours. We need = never apologize for being one-talented or two-talented, if we make full use of the gifts we have. We may not be = able to do everything, but we can do som= ething. We’re not asked to be dabble= rs, but disciples. We’re to= let our light shine and not worry that ours may be 75 watts while our neighbor’s is 250.

Dr. Roland Bainton, an eminent historian who enjoyed a long and distinguished career at Yale, paid a tribute to his father that emphasizes what I’m trying to say:

His congregations never numbered more than two hundred. He was an inconspicuous minister. He wa= s a contented minister. Early he realized that he would never play a prominent role in the life of the church. Had he been invited t= o a renowned pulpit he could not have accepted due to infirmities of the flesh. He had suffered from glandular tuberculosis in college and though this was surmounted he continu= ed to be frail . . . One thus hampered could not have carried a major assignment. (He) knew it and = was not cankered by jealousy, tormented by ambition or racked by frustration. Within the framework of frailty, he aimed at excellence, reminding himself that “the wayside pool reflects the fleeting clouds as exactly does the mighty ocean.”

So be it! There are different gifts. Individually, grace is= given to each of us in different ways out of the rich diversity of Christ’s giving. We can be reconciled = to life’s limits, but we can also find joy in the opportunities that will come and meaning in the contributions that we—and only we—can m= ake to the greater glory of God. = If we cannot preach like Peter, if we cannot pray like Paul, we can tell the love of Jesus and say He died for all. Let us pray:

Loving and gracious God, we hope for the day when the dying may be freed from their fear of dea= th and the timid and bored may be released from their fear of life. Give us faith to see beyond life&#= 8217;s limitations. May we set our e= yes on you, O God. May our ears hear= the faint whisper of hope. May we believe in him who refused to let his spirit be crucified and his trust in = you diminish and who, even unto death, was able to say, “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit.” Hear our prayer, O Lord, as even now we recommit ourselves to you. In his name we pray. Amen.