How Can We Know the Way?

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 2: 2-10 and John 14: 1-14 Sermon Title: How Can We Know the Way? Preached on May 10, 2020 Last week I was listening to a radio show that comes on National Public Radio called This American Life. The show reports on the lives of Americans, 10 to 12 minutes each. In recent weeks the stories have mostly been from people in New York City: sick parents trying to care for their children in the confines of their apartments or overwhelmed ambulance drivers, sometimes able to do little more than nothing for the dying and always afraid that they themselves will contract the virus. Last week the subject was lighter, but still COVID 19 related. In honor of all those high school seniors who are having to miss their Senior Prom or settle for a virtual prom, This American Life spent the entire hour celebrating what for many is an important milestone, what for others is a source of dread or embarrassment. This Prom themed episode included stories from tuxedo rental staff who reported on the state of returned tuxedo rentals. There was one story of a high school class in the Midwest who safely danced in the basement of the school gym while a tornado swept through town, others of young men stood up by their dates, mothers who made their daughters uncomfortable with their advice, and post-prom high school seniors who had spent all this time and effort looking forward to a night that failed to meet their expectations. The whole show brought back memories for me of my own senior prom. I remember the weeks leading up to it. How daunting it seemed. I had to rent a tuxedo, make dinner reservations at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, buy tickets, order a corsage, and most nerve-racking of all, find a date. Remembering my personal experience with prom, I realized how I would feel if my Senior Prom were canceled due to a global pandemic: relived. I would have felt completely and dramatically relieved to not have to go through the dauntingly vulnerable process which leads up to a night that I’ll always remember, not because it was particularly magical, but because it stretched me in ways that the academics of high school never could. My prom memories include how I finally asked a girl on a date I had been wanting to ask on a date for years. We danced and we talked. I almost kissed her but lost my nerve. Why? Because going into uncharted territory without knowing what’s going to happen next is terrifying, especially if you’re the kind of person who’s afraid to ask for advice or directions. That’s why I admire Thomas. He’s pretty much my favorite disciple, because he is always brave enough to ask. In that passage I just read he says to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” I’ve never heard of that being a memory verse, but it ought to be. With life always stretching us and pushing us into the unknown, asking for directions is absolutely imperative. I’ve said it before, we call him Doubting Thomas, but truly, he’s just the one who is brave enough to speak his doubts out loud. Every one of them was thinking or feeling the same thing, they just weren’t willing to say it. Had the Disciples been driving in a car, lost at night on the highway, Thomas would have been the one who walked into the dimly lit gas station to ask for directions. Had the Disciples been students all lost in Spanish Class, Thomas would have been the one to ask the teacher to go over the verbs she’d just conjugated a second time. Had the Disciples all been young high school seniors, nervous about asking a girl to the senior prom, Thomas would have been the one who called his older brother to say, “There’s a girl I really want to ask, but where do I even start?” Some of us pretend that we’re doing fine or that we know our way through unchartered waters but take note of Thomas’ example: it’s ok to ask for directions. It’s ok. For the truth is, no one makes it though unchartered waters without help. A pastor named Shannon Michael Pater wrote about our passage from the Gospel of John saying that the role Jesus plays and which he calls all his disciples to play in moments such as this one is like that of a midwife and a hospice chaplain. Both of these roles stand in between two very different realities. Both these roles perform a pivotal task during a dramatic transition. Both these roles boldly proclaim maybe there is pain right now, but it’s the pain of in-between. Something is happening now. Something is changing. One chapter will come to an end, but another will begin. Just relax if you can and wait. That’s not easy to do. What’s easier is just to do something. Anything. One of the most stressful feelings I can think of is that of being late for a meeting or appointment. That feeling that comes from knowing that I’m supposed to be somewhere, only I’m not there. I’m stuck in traffic, I’m lost, or I’m trying to politely exit a conversation. Worse, is that feeling of knowing I’m supposed to be somewhere only I can’t remember where. Whatever it is, there’s severe anxiety that comes with knowing that I’m in the wrong place. That I’m supposed to be some place other than where I am. Do you know the feeling? Today, that’s the feeling that I pretty much feel all the time. I always feel like there’s something happening that I’m supposed to be at. I wake up already feeling like I’m running behind. I have to constantly remind myself that still, most things are closed and besides that, this is a time for waiting, only waiting is uncomfortable and it’s hard. I’d much rather have a timeline or a road map so I could know where it is that we’re going and how long it’s going to take to get there. Do you know what I mean? The shelter in place orders are lifting, but to what are we returning to? Some hope we’re getting back to normal, only sitting in a restaurant with half the tables roped off doesn’t seem normal. Waiting in line outside a Home Depot doesn’t seem normal. How long is all this going to last? What does the future hold? And how to do we get there? Those are the questions Thomas was asking. Again, I like Thomas. He’s always brave enough to ask the questions that everyone else is afraid to ask. Jesus tells his disciples, “don’t let your hearts be troubled… In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places” and I’m going there to prepare a place for you. “That sounds great Jesus,” Thomas says, “But how do we get there?” I love that. He just says it. “Actually, no, we have no idea where you are going. We barely understand what you’re talking about. How can we know the way?” It’s like Jesus assumes that we’re capable of remaining calm at a time like this. It’s like he thinks we ought to just be able to follow him as sheep follow a shepherd. Doesn’t he know how anxious and afraid we all are? I don’t like this. Do you? And I’ll gladly wear my cloth facemask to the grocery store for another month if it means I won’t have to wear it once June comes. The part that scares me now is the not knowing. What’s the world going to look like this Fall? What’s going to happen next? I know that ultimately there is a place prepared for you and me in the Kingdom of God, but there are a few steps to take between here and there so like Thomas, I’d like a slightly more detailed plan than the one Jesus has mapped out. Unfortunately, there’s no map in the Second Scripture Lesson. Instead, there’s this assurance: “Believe me because of the works themselves.” That’s what Jesus says in response to Phillip who wants to see the Father. Jesus says, “Who do you think I am?” Then to Thomas, as if to say, “I’ve been leading you by the hand this whole time. What makes you think I’m going to stop now?” I want you to know that your church is doing all kinds of things as we step into this unchartered territory. Your congregation’s elected representatives are meeting weekly, some nearly daily. Councils and committees are working together, they’re moving quickly, we’re learning from regional and national leaders in the Presbyterian Church, we’re meeting with other area church leaders comparing notes, we’re reading what the governor and school system are thinking, but what I believe is most helpful which only a church, a church like this one can do is to remember that he hasn’t failed us yet, so why be afraid that he’s going to fail us now? “Believe me, because of the works themselves,” He said, and what were those works? He healed the sick. He fed the hungry. He encouraged the hopeless. He relieved heavy burdens. He gave us his very body and blood. He was the incarnation of the Living God who, when the Hebrew people heard the Egyptian horde behind them and saw the sea before them, divided the water on each side giving Moses and the people a dry path to deliver them. When they reached the other side Moses’ sister Miriam sang, “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rides he has thrown into the sea.” Those words were sung and repeated then written down. Why? Because there have been other seas to cross, other hopeless situations to be delivered from, so we must remember that he has been leading us through the unknown since the dawn of time with no intention of relenting until we reach the promised land. He said to the disciples: “In my father’s house, there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you.” “How can we know that we’ll get there?” we all ask. Therefore, we must remember, it’s because he’s led us this far. He knit us together in our mother’s womb when the womb was all we knew. In our mother’s arms He filled our lungs with breath, knowing already the number of hairs on our heads. He watched as we stood and took our first steps. He heard us cry as we fell. He wiped those tears from our eyes. Not far, but close, as one chapter closed and the next one began. On this Mother’s Day we give thanks to God for our mothers, and we rejoice that like a mother our God has been our ever-present help in times of transition, promising that he will not drop us and will be waiting for us on the other side of everything. It reminds me of my own mother. She didn’t go to her senior prom. She considered herself too mature at the time, and she insisted that I go to mine. But who will I ask? What will I say? Those were my questions, but I’m not sure I had to ask them. She was there to help me. One thing I remember her saying is, “If I had any idea how scared 18-year-old boys were of 18-year-old girls I would have been a much more confident 18-year-old girl.” Through every transition of my life, from birth to high school graduation, marriage and our first and second child, I’ve been blessed to benefit from those who have been through it already and holding my hand have testified that it’s going to be OK. Certainly, we are in the midst of another terrifying transition, but who is with us in it? Miriam, who pointed to God’s hand dividing the sea. Thomas, who knew who to ask for directions. This month I’ve been reading about Churchill who faced the blitz. That when German bombers flew over London in the middle of the night, he’d go to the roof, still in his nightgown, helmet on his head, believing death was better than surrender. Then I consider the history of this church, with the likes of Pastor Palmer who returned to our sanctuary seeing a floor covered in the blood of wounded confederates and union soldiers alike, the pews burned to fuel fires, and the congregation terrified, isolated, and not knowing where to go next. To whom did he testify? To whom did he ask for directions? Our church came back from that and we will make it through this too. Step by step we will do it, following Christ who leads from where we are now to where we will be, the Father’s House with a place for you, a place for me. Alleluia. Amen.