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Jim Wood, Associate Pastor
Let me know what you think. The church Email is: SLUMC@att.net, Phone: 480.895.8766
9th
Sunday after Pentecost
Holy Communion
August 1, 2004
"It's Not Difficult"
John 1:35-42
Across
these past 35 years of ordained ministry, and even before that, I've been called
upon to be the bearer of bad news. I've knocked on the door of an elderly couple's
home to tell them that their granddaughter had been killed in a dune buggy accident
in Mexico, and then held them as their hearts broke. I've entered the office
of a highly respected professional man and searched for words to tell him that
his wife and young daughter were gone, victims of asphyxiation from a faulty
heater in their mountain cabin, then stayed with him as his world came apart
and later went with him to stand before their coffins at the cemetery.
I've sat with parents waiting for some word about their missing daughter only
to have the police come and tell them that her brutalized body was finally discovered
in the trunk of her abandoned car. I've stood at the bedside of a high school
athlete, injured in a motorcycle accident, and tried to say as gently as possible
what his doctor and parents could not say: "You're going to lose both of
your legs."
Bad news is very difficult to tell. That's why I get a little angry and object
to the news media's casual reporting of the tragic and catastrophic and the
public's seemingly unfulfilled appetite for news of unfortunate events. Bad
news is very hard to tell.
This is because there are no words to relate human despair and anguish, no grammar
to express shock and trauma, no language for tears and terror. Most often it's
a lump in the throat, a knot in the stomach, and a stammering tongue. The telling
of it calls for sensitivity, restraint, a quavering voice, wiping of the eyes
and strength from God.
One novel tells the story of a soldier, returning from war, who goes reluctantly
to meet his best friend's family to try to tell them how their son and brother
died. He says to the deceased friend's sister, "Maybe it's something you'd
rather not know or hear?" Without hesitation, though, she replies: "It's
one of those hurts one would rather have." Yes, bad news is very difficult
to tell.
On the other hand, good news is explosive! It's easy to relate. It must be shared.
I think, for example, of the man running up and down the hospital corridor shouting
to any and everyone, "They're going to live! My wife and baby are both
going to live!" Or the young woman announcing with transfigured face to
strangers in the elevator as she shows them her engagement ring, "He asked
me to marry him!" Or the farmer, who one evening vigorously rang the bell
that signaled an emergency, and when his family had hurriedly assembled from
doing their various chores, simply pointed to the western sky ablaze with a
brilliant sunset. Or the medical research scientist who runs through the laboratory
to his colleague shouting, "It's working! We've found a cure!" Or
the young student I had counseled in his religious and emotional turmoil, who
telephoned me one day and almost before I could answer reported with a doxology
in his voice, "Guess what, Jim? I just received Jesus Christ as my Lord
and Savior, and I wanted you to be the first to know!"
Good news is not difficult to tell. It's as spontaneous as telling the world
that we're in love. It's as easy as announcing the birth of a child. It's the
eagerness we feel to share with our family the promotion or the honor we've
received. It's the contagion in us to share an insight or discovery that has
changed our lives. It's the desire to refer others to a doctor whose extraordinary
skills and gifts have helped save our life and gave us tomorrow. It's passing
on the fruits and discoveries of prayer. It's the urgency to show friends a
new skill or talent we've realized. (Think about it for a moment. Do you remember
the day you learned to whistle or ride a bicycle?) It's the quickening desire
to introduce others to that person who awakens the best in us and brings our
world alive.
Ask the disciple, Andrew, if good news is difficult to share. Watch him in our
Scripture lesson this morning. He was a disciple of John the Baptist until that
day he met Jesus. With a friend (perhaps it was John, the beloved disciple)
Andrew is moved by our Lord's persuasive presence and they follow him down the
road. Jesus turns and asks, "What do you seek?" They may not have
been exactly sure what they were looking for, but they were convinced that whatever
it was, in Jesus they could find it. So they answered, Didaskalos, which is
the Greek equivalent of Rabbi, meaning Teacher or Great One. It was the title
of respect by students and seekers after knowledge to their teachers and wise
thinkers. Then they asked Jesus, "Where are you staying?" For they
wanted more than a casual, brief exchange of greetings. They wanted some unhurried
time with Jesus to share their yearnings, to ask their questions and to benefit
from his answers and perspective. Since it was late in the afternoon, we can
assume that they sat at dinner with Jesus, spent unforgettable hours of spiritual
exploration with him, and perhaps spent the night where he was staying. It was
more than enough!
The dawning that followed was like six million sunrises in Andrew and John,
and they couldn't contain the joy and excitement of their new certainty. Andrew
quickly runs off to find his brother Simon. The pounding in his heart vibrates
his whole body. The intensity in him makes him strain forward as he makes his
way to find Simon. His feelings are undisguised and with tears streaming down
his face, he grabs his brother by the shoulders and the good news in him is
a song: "We've found the Messiah, Simon!" But the uncontainable enthusiasm
in Andrew becomes more than words, for he takes his brother with him so that
Simon may also enter the joy of Andrew's discovery.
The same intense response consumed the leper after he met Jesus and was made
whole. Jesus told him not to say anything to anyone, but he ran off and told
everyone. Or the woman of Samaria who rushed off to tell everyone she met about
the miracle of love in Jesus that had transformed her life and world. Good news
isn't difficult to tell. When we're loved, when light dispels our darkness,
when we find the way, when we're rescued, when we meet the Messiah, when joy
in us is like a song, we want to tell others-we must tell them!
Robert Raines tells of a certain autumn when his then ten-year-old son, Bob,
had made the all-star team in Pop Warner football. He writes: "As I rubbed
his back, while putting him to bed one night, out of the quiet came a still,
small voice. 'Dad, is this the first time you ever rubbed an all-star's back?'
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and replied, 'Yes, Bob, it's the first
time . . . ever.'" No, good news is not hard to share.
So, let's tell the best news of all. Let's share with others the light in which
we walk, the joy and peace that we've been given. Let's remind the world of
its only hope and true horizon. Let's invite others to enter with us into the
friendship and love of Jesus Christ. Let's commend the abundant life we find
in him, for among the countless privileges that are ours, there's none greater
than telling this good news and introducing others to the Master.
So why, then, do we stammer or fall silent about our Lord and our faith? Is
it over familiarity that keeps us silent? Is it the stereotype we have of the
overzealous, Bible-thumping fanatic that keeps us from sharing this good news
with others? Or is it our sophistication that causes us to be reluctant? Sharing
good news invades no one's privacy and is not coercive. Sharing good news is
a gesture of love that needs no special language or formal setting. It happens
and naturally and spontaneously; it's not contrived and categorized into good,
neat little formulas. Instead, heart simply meets heart, openings occur and
God's promise is shared. What God plants in our soul emerges on our lips and
motivates our response. Little wonder that Charles Wesley implored for a thousand
tongues to sing the good news or that Jesus said that the very wayside stones
would cry out were human voices silenced, because good news is not difficult
to tell. Dr. Paul Scherer put it this way:
The fundamental joy of being a Christian doesn't consist in being good. I get
tired of that. [Rather, it consists] in standing with God against some darkness
or some void and watching the light come. I remember how it was on a Sunday
after church when a shy boy of eighteen opened for me one little window into
the hell of loneliness that his soul was. I spoke of the good news of the Gospel,
of God's grace and love, and I saw after a while his face look out that same
window with laughter.
Good news is not difficult to share, so let's share the best news of all!
There's a story about an English cockney fellow named Alfie. He was a failure
at everything he tried in life. So one day, in a fit of discouragement, frustration
and despair, he tried to take his own life. He failed at that, too. When he
was in the hospital, somebody came by and said, "Alfie, why did you do
it?" And Alfie looked up from his hospital bed and said, "Because
there's no good news anywhere. If there was, someone would've come running with
it."
Good news is not hard to tell, so let's tell and live the best news of all,
in a world where people live in hells of loneliness, where they get discouraged,
frustrated and despair of hope. Andrew met Jesus and when he could find his
brother, he shared what had happened and then he brought his brother Simon to
enter with him into the joy of his certainty and meet Jesus. Some of us can
surely do more than Andrew, but all of us can do as much! We remember this as
we prepare to come to the Lord's Table this morning. Amen.
Jim Wood, Associate Pastor
Let me know what you think. The church Email is: SLUMC@att.net, Phone: 480.895.8766