"steadfast courage"

Isa. 11:1-10; Ps. 72:1-7, 18-19; Rom. 15:4-13;  Matt. 3:1-12

Dr. George R. Sinclair
Pastor

December 9, 2007

             Paula and I still get the newsletter from the first church I served in Illinois.  When we saw last week that one of our old friends was on the Prayer List, we called.  I was kind of surprised when Carlene answered. I guess I thought she might be in the hospital. Anyway, she sounded like she always did—happy, full of fun.  I asked if she was ok and told her we’d read about her being on the Prayer List. And she said, “Well, I’ve been sick since August.  They thought maybe I had West Nile virus.  I was having headaches, flu-like symptoms. They’ve given me every test in the book and decided I have arterial arthritis.” 

Carlene was a critical care nurse so she knows her stuff and is plain spoken when it comes to health matters. She explained that she’d been having migraine-like headaches and nothing much had helped.  When the doctors decided she had arterial arthritis they treated her with prednisone.  And that made her sick.  “But,” she said, “they’ve adjusted my meds. So I have one good day and one bad day.” On bad days, Carlene can’t leave the house. On good days, things are fairly normal, like Christmas shopping with friends. 

You know how it is when you talk to an old friend and you haven’t talked in a long while—you catch up.  Carlene’s a grandmother.  She said her grandson loved football and gave them a real scare this fall—he had a neck injury and had to be air-lifted to Peoria.  He was paralyzed on his left side but soon recovered and went back to school, too early in Carlene’s opinion. Anyway, Carlene says her grandson is now having some memory problems and went from an A to a C student. They are worried, even though the doctors tell them Jordan should be himself within 18 months.  Eighteen months is a long time even for a grandmother—but Carlene sounded upbeat.

In the course of telling me all of this, Carlene mentioned her mother and her mother-in-law, both in their nineties, both still live at home and both still drive. Mid-westerners are hearty people.

She told me about another member of her family, a thirty year old whose breast cancer is back. The prognosis was not good.

We went on to talk about our kids—typical stuff—what they’re up to and so forth. And then she says, “George, I still think of you as a thirty year old.”  And I say, “Carlene, I’m a gray headed 54 year old.”  She laughs and we compare other aches and pains of aging.  “You know,” she said, “Ron’s white-headed now.”  (Ronnie’s Carlene’s husband—in his mid to late sixties)  “Yep, Ron turned white-headed when all that stuff went on at the church and when we lost the farm.” 

The farm I knew about, but the “stuff” at church was news and I didn’t ask.  “Stress will do that,” Carlene said. “It’ll make you white-headed.”  Again, Carlene’s laughing as she’s telling me all this. You’d think she’d have some anxiety, but Carlene’s tough.

I say to her, “Carlene, you need to go to Mayo’s.”

And she says, “We’ve talked about it. “Robin (that’s Carlene’s daughter who’s a nurse now herself and was just a little kid when we left) has been after me to go up there if I’m not better by January.”  Again, Carlene’s laughing.  And I’m saying, “Please, Carlene promise me you will go.”

And she says, “I promise.” 

The whole time I’m talking to Carlene I’m wondering where she gets it. I’m wondering where she gets her courage, her steadfastness.  I remember the day we left their place like it was yesterday.  It was early morning and we’re packed up to leave.  Meredith’s not yet four years old. Sean’s about eleven months.  We’d spent the night with Ron and Carlene. The movers had packed our house the day before and it’s already on its way to North Carolina. We’re standing outside their farmhouse—big blue grain elevator framing the sky—the smell of cattle heavy in the morning air—flat countryside stretching for miles.  We’re all there together in one big hug—tears in everybody’s eyes—saying goodbye.  You know when you’re with folks who will walk with you through hell and back—Ronnie and Carlene were like that—tough as nails and hearts of gold.

Where do you get your courage?  Where do you get your steadfastness?  You gotta have courage. You gotta have steadfastness to live.  What makes you strong?  What makes you feel like you can take on whatever life hands you?  What keeps you from feeling helpless, despairing, or abused?  What makes you patient? What makes you endure? 

My baby sister has an autistic son. He’s 15 now.  He can order off a menu, but he can’t make change.  He’ll never drive a car but knows he’s supposed to.  Drew’s caught “in-between” in a world of his own. And I know there are days when it breaks his mother’s heart. But she keeps on going. She refuses to give up.  Where do you get courage like that?  Where do you get steadfastness?

Terry Anderson was kidnapped in Beirut on March 16, 1985.  He was held hostage for almost seven years.  When he was released reporters asked what enabled him to survive. And he said, “My faith, my companions, and my stubbornness.”

A second reporter wondered if he hated his captors. “Don’t you hate them,” the reporter asked? “Help us to understand that.”  Terry Anderson replied, “It’s really very simple. I’m a Christian. The Scriptures teach us to forgive. I don’t hate anybody.”

A third reporter asked Terry if he ever lost hope.  And Terry said, “Hard question . . . Of course I had some blue moments, moments of despair, but fortunately, right after I became a hostage, one of the first things that fell into my hands was a Bible.  Over the last six and a half years . . . I’ve spent a lot of time with the Bible . . . and that helped me so much because it’s about hope; it’s about trust in God, and that’s what gave me the strength to make it through each day.”  And then Terry Anderson said, “You do what you have to do. Faith helps you do what you have to do. I spent a lot of time with the Bible and it reminded me to do the best I could each day . . . and to trust God for the future.”

“Whatever was written in the former days,” Paul told the Romans, “was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.”   The Bible was written to give us encouragement, to give us steadfastness, to give us hope. Of course other things drive us.  There are other things that motivate us.  Fear and worry come to mind, but I’ve never felt that fear and worry do much good.  Oh, they might do in the short term.  I was worried about my blood pressure a while back and decided to make some changes. Every now and then fear comes in handy—like driving across the Bayway in a dense fog.  I slow down, don’t you?  Fear is good for some things. Worry, even, can be good. I know our Stewardship Committee has worried about getting pledges in. Worry has helped them stay on task. Fear and worry have their place.  But you can’t build a life on fear and worry, at least not a very good one.

I had a football coach who believed in fear and in making his players worry.  He’d yell and cuss—grab us by the face-mask and jerk us around—embarrass us in front of our teammates.  Intimidation was his MO.  And he won a lot a football games, but he never won a championship. 

Funny thing is, a few years after he retired, our JV coach replaced him.  Coach Jerry Jenkins. I’ll never forget the man. He was all of about 5 foot eight, smoked a pipe and had a great big smile.  Don’t get me wrong, Coach Jenkins was a fireball and we ran just as many wind sprints as the varsity, but we didn’t get yelled at all of the time. We didn’t get kicked like dogs. We didn’t get shamed.  Coach Jenkins made us believe that we could win. And we did. Our JV team went undefeated. And when Coach Jenkins finally got the varsity he won a state championship.

Some governments govern by fear.  Fear is cheaper. It’s quick. And in the short run it gets things done.  Encouragement, on the other hand, takes time.  Encouragement takes patience and repetition.  It takes words of God said over and over until they are inscribed on our hearts.  That’s why we come here.  We come here so God can tell us, “You’re going to make it. You’re going to keep on keeping on. And I’m going to help. And your brothers and sisters are going to help.  You’re going to get through whatever you’re going through. And you’re going to make it. You’re going to be with me because I’m with you.  And I’m never leaving you.  I’m holding your feet to the fire.  I’m sticking with you no matter what.  And because I’m sticking with you, you can take on anything. You can take on the lions and they're going to eat straw. You can take on the wolves and they’re going to live with lambs. Nobody’s going to be hurt or destroyed on all of my holy mountain ’cause a little child’s leading them.”

  Fear might be good for driving in the fog, but fear can’t get you home.  Worry might get you to a doctor, but worry won’t make you well. God doesn’t want anyone to live by fear.  Fear’s not how God operates.  Think about all of those times in the Bible when God shows up. Every time God shows up, the first thing that happens is that people are afraid. Mary’s afraid when Gabriel speaks to her. The shepherds are afraid when they’re on their night watch.  Moses is frightened by the burning bush.  Every time God shows up, people fear.  And what does God say, “Don’t be afraid.”

Has it ever occurred to you that people who use fear are the biggest chickens of all?  I think about the bullies I knew in grade school.  I think about the bullies I’ve known in the church.  I think about the bullies I’ve met in life. I’ve always found that when you call their bluff they turn out to be big chickens, the biggest chickens of all. To tell you the truth, the devil is in the chicken-making business. The devil would like to make us all chicken. The devil would like us to keep our mouths shut and not make waves, never speak truth to power, go along to get along. The devil would like to make us worry about our health, our future, our security.  

The devil likes to make people chicken, which is a convenient way of keeping folks in line, which is why Isaiah uses such outrageous poetry. I think Isaiah was up against so much fear and intimation he had to turn everything up side down—wolves living with lambs and lions eating straw.  That’s what happens when God shows up.  When God shows up—fear takes a hike and the devil doesn’t get his due. 

Faith makes us stand up.  That’s what resurrection means. Resurrection means we will stand at the last day. When our flesh has turned to dust we shall stand. But resurrection also means we take our stand here and now.   Life takes standing up. It takes courage and steadfastness to welcome others as Christ welcomes us. 

Jesus didn’t roll over and play dead when he welcomed sinners, when he welcomed the last, the least, the lost, the little.  The fact is, welcoming the last, the least, and the lost got Jesus in a whole heap of trouble. But he was okay with that. Jesus wasn’t bullied by fear, by those who excluded the last, the least, the lost and the little.  Jesus made the lions eat straw.  Jesus refused to live by fear. Jesus was the stronger one which is why we need not and will not fear. 

There are lions enough in the woods.  But don’t let the lions intimidate you—make them eat straw.  Indeed, a little child has led them.  Welcome one another as that child welcomes you. And the God of steadfastness and encouragement will fill you with joy and peace in believing so that you abound in hope.  Amen.