March 4 Sermon

Judges 6:36-40

The Sign of the Fleece

 Then Gideon said to God, ‘In order to see whether you will deliver Israel by my hand, as you have said, I am going to lay a fleece of wool on the threshing-floor; if there is dew on the fleece alone, and it is dry on all the ground, then I shall know that you will deliver Israel by my hand, as you have said.’ 

  And it was so. When he rose early next morning and squeezed the fleece, he wrung enough dew from the fleece to fill a bowl with water. 

  Then Gideon said to God, ‘Do not let your anger burn against me, let me speak one more time; let me, please, make trial with the fleece just once more; let it be dry only on the fleece, and on all the ground let there be dew.’ 

  And God did so that night. It was dry on the fleece only, and on all the ground there was dew.

Years ago, the beginning of spring meant one thing: the beginning of baseball season. I counted down the days, and some seasons the hours, until Spring Training opened and my beloved Cincinnati Reds took the field for the first time that year. In Spring Training, everyone looks like they'll have the best years of their career, the Reds haven't lost a game, and there is nothing but hope.

Being a Reds fan for the last twenty years has meant that hope usually vanished not long into the season. But seeing as how they won the World Series when I was 9 years old, I was hooked for life, so there is no limit to the number of losing seasons I will endure for them.

Lately, though, spring has taken on a bit of a different meaning. We all remember last April 27, when a swath of storms cut through the southeast and left each of us shaken by their power. Tuscaloosa was devastated, along with Ringgold and Apison and other points in between. Our own church found a tree on top of its roof, and we wondered how long it would take before life returned to normal.

For many of us, it wasn't too long before we had moved on past the storms. For those with damaged roofs and trees in the yard, it took longer, and there are still many woodpiles lingering at the fringes of our lives that serve as reminders of what once was.

Friday, as spring once more made its arrival, mother nature reared her suddenly very threatening head and reminded us of the power of wind, of how small we can feel, of how vulnerable life is. I had one eye on the weather on Friday morning as I worked on my sermon, and had sent Rachel an email advising her to come home around four to make sure she was here before the worst of the coming weather hit. Caleb was at daycare when I received an email advising all parents to come pick their children up immediately. I looked at the weather and noticed the giant red part of the storm lingering over the same part of the map as my house. At that moment I decided that it was probably wiser to spend my time in the basement than to get in the car and go drive around town.

When I emerged from the basement and turned the news back on, I saw pictures that shocked me. The marina at the end of Hunter Road, a few miles from our house, was no longer filled with boats parked neatly in their slips. Now there was chaos, fiberglass and twisted metal thrown everywhere, as though some giant child had thrown a tempter tantrum and tossed his toys every which way. I couldn't get there even if I had wanted to, though—the same tornado had torn across Hunter Road, blocking the way and smashing houses on its way out of town. Luckily, it doesn't seem as though anyone was killed.

But it's put a new meaning on the arrival of spring. The last two years have shaken my understanding of what a thunderstorm means. While I used to sit and worry about whether my basement would leak, now I sit in my basement and worry whether my house will be vulnerable to the winds of prey.

And I can't help but wonder what this means for my faith. I can't help but try to wrap my mind around the proper response as a man of faith in the midst of the storms of life. I can't help but let my mind be caught up in the winds of misfortune and wonder where God is in the midst of all of this.

With such questions on my heart, I turn to Gideon's fleece. It seems trivial in the face of such questions. Last week we discussed Gideon's call—a call from God to lead Israel out from under the oppression of the Midianites. We discussed Gideon's lack of qualifications, how he was the least in his family. We discussed how Gideon was angry at God because he couldn't understand God's presence and working in the midst of their times of trial. But God called Gideon anyway.

Gideon, however, still wasn't convinced. So we come to this story today, to the story of the fleece, and we marvel at how small this story is. It pales in comparison to the tale of Noah's Ark, to the seas splitting for Moses, to the awesomeness of the crucifixion. It's a story of a man setting out a fleece for God, and expecting God to perform a tiny miracle with it to confirm his suspicions. Gideon doesn't quite trust that this call to lead Israel is from God, so he asks God to do this miracle with the fleece.

And sure enough, God does it. Not just once, either—but twice. Gideon isn't completely convinced the first night—so he asks God to perform a miracle once more, just once more, but not to be angry about it. Gideon is remarkably humble for being so brash, but God performs this miracle once more to confirm Gideon's call to lead Israel.

What I'd like to propose is that we read this story with a mind not on what it tells us about us, not on what it tells us about Gideon, but rather that we read this story focused on what it teaches us about God. For what it teaches us about God in relation to Gideon is just the same as what it teaches us about God in relation to us. As much as humanity has changed, God hasn't.

The heart of this story is the small, almost insignificant miracle that God performs for Gideon. I don't think it caused God too much trouble to make a fleece wet and leave the ground dry—after all, this is the same God who carved Mount Everest from the earth and created Saturn and its rings. The amazing thing is that God does it at all.

Gideon asks God for proof that the call is truly from God. And God, who wants Gideon to follow him, who wants Gideon to lead the Israelite people in the hope that they might be drawn closer to him, who longs for each person God has made to be in a life-transforming relationship with himself, gives Gideon that proof.

God could have simply cast Gideon off and selecting someone who wouldn't be filled with as much doubt. God could have found someone who wouldn't ask such questions. God could have searched for an individual who didn't need a wet fleece before he would follow God's call. God could have sought out someone a little more perfect.

But God didn't search for someone a little more perfect. God used Gideon, in all of his doubts and uncertainties, though Gideon was filled with imperfections. God used Gideon because God had called Gideon. God wanted Gideon to be drawn closer to him, to be a leader for the people, and God was willing to continue to pursue Gideon even when Gideon wasn't perfect. Even if Gideon's life was a little messy, was less than ideal, God wanted Gideon to follow him. When Gideon doubted, God reached out to him, and when Gideon doubted again, God reached out once more. This is a God who reaches out time and time again to pursue us.

This is the same God who pursues us. This is the same God who wants to use us, in the midst of our doubts and our imperfections. This is the same God who pursues us and calls us even though we aren't perfect, even though we may have big questions about God. We may not always walk the straight and narrow, but even when we fall, God chases after us with a heart for his people, his creations, his beloved ones.

When our life is tossed about by storms of life, whether they are of our own making or when they fall on us from the sky, God pursues us. God never turns his back on us. God is with us. God pursued Gideon and continued to show Gideon his love, and God does the same for us. Whether the chaos in our life has everything to do with our choices or nothing we could have controlled, God pours out his love upon us. Sometimes, it can take some work to see exactly how God does this—sometimes, we even wonder where God is in our midst. But God is there—God is present, alive and active. God is there, and God is pouring out his love upon us, whether we deserve it or not, whether we can recognize it or not.

In today's text, we read about the smallest of miracles, a gift to Gideon to show him how much God loves him.

In your life today, I believe that God is pouring out that same love and using people around us to help us see it. May we open our eyes to recognize how God pursues us with unmatched love, and may we allow our lives to be used in such a way so that others may see God's love and the passion with which he pursues them.

Let us pray

The Terror of the Storm

  This picture seems unreal.

  Towns shouldn't be able to be erased.  They should stay where they are, with squares and restaurants and festivals and people who sit by the county square and watch the world go by.  They don't have to remain as we remember them from our childhoods, but they should at least be able to continue to exist.

  Last night, West Liberty, KY was apparently destroyed by a tornado.  I don't know how many people were killed there, but I know that every life there was affected.  Even those who escaped physically unharmed will never again hear the rumble of thunder the same way.

  Just a few miles down the road, boats were tossed like toys of the gods in a local marina.  Several houses were crushed by the power of the storm.  As far as I know, no one was killed, but again, every life was altered.

  It's eerily similar to last April 27, when storms of a similar magnitude cut a swath of damage across the southeast.  Tuscaloosa, Ringgold, Apison and many other towns were just devastated.

  Last night, we spent the night on a futon in the basement.  It was uncomfortable, but it was safe.  At least, as safe as is possible on a night like that.  We didn't know what terror the skies held, and every now and again we'd hear the wind rattle the house and the hail pop upon the air conditioner and we'd wonder if that was it or merely a sign of things to come.  Caleb was fast asleep in his crib, unaware of the storms brewing in the skies above, confident in his parents to provide safe-keeping for him, unknowing that our powers are so limited against winds that threaten to uproot even the strongest trees.

  In all of this, I wonder about the God who spoke out of the whirlwind to Job.  Before God speaks, Elihu is exalting God before Job.  He says, Surely God is great, and we do not know him; the number of his years is unsearchable.  For he draws up the drops of water; he distills his mist in rain, which the skies pour down and drop upon mortals abundantly.  Can anyone understand the spreading of the clouds, the thunderings of his pavilion? (Job 36:26-9)

  Following Elihu, God speaks from the whirlwind.


  I cannot help but wonder what this whirlwind means for us today.  I do not believe, as some may, that storms and chaos are indicators of God's displeasure to us.  I do not believe that God punishes us for sin by smashing boats around in a marina.  I do not believe that God causes such storms, or that God leads them into certain areas and away from others.  I believe that such storms happen, that they have been happening as long as this earth has been here, and that God permits them to happen as part of the weather patterns of the world.  I don't think a tornado serves as some sort of test, but I do believe that God weeps for the sadness of loss suffered by each human, by each community, and I believe that God expects his children to respond to such a storm in a way befitting the selfless service of Christ our King.

  I believe the church, the hands and feet of Jesus Christ in the world, a 'colony of heaven in a country of death', as Eugene Peterson describes it, should rise up and meet the aftereffects of the whirlwind with the same passion and energy that the storm created.  I don't pretend to know exactly how Christ would have responded to such a storm, but I do believe that Christ would have expected me to respond with charity, with selflessness, with love.  I do not go forth to explain the storm or to understand the whys and hows, but I do go forward to offer hope and love to those affected.

Knees and the Kingdom of God

  As a veteran of three knee surgeries who loves running, I have a bit of a conflict.  Going out and pounding the pavement for hours on end will only cause more pain, but I miss running.  In hopes of settling this dilemma, I bought a pair of Vibram FiveFingers last year.  The idea of the shoe is to provide zero padding and mold to the foot in hopes of encouraging the runner to run as though they had no shoes on.  (I hear you asking:  Well, then why buy the shoe at all?  The FiveFinger provides minimal rubber isolation from sticks and stones and other things that may well break my bones.  I'd like to avoid that.)  Some people believe that running barefoot will help protect the body from chronic injuries--the theory is that God designed the body to run a certain way, and the padding in modern shoes changes the way we run, leading to injuries.  I don't think barefoot running is for everyone, but I wanted to give it a try.

  In summary, barefoot running is trying to take us back to the way we ran without shoes, when we were barefoot and free from the shoe technology that is *supposed* to make us run better.  The struggle is that it takes a lot of work to go back to the way we ran as children, with barefeet, the feel of the soft summer grass carrying us forward as we ran with unrestrained glee in our hearts.

  In many ways, we can't go back to the way we were.  Perhaps my FiveFingers will help me imitate the way I ran as a child, but I can't truly go back.

  The church is the same way.  It can't go back.

  Many people want the church to go back.  They long to return to 'the good old days', when everyone went to church on Sunday morning and stores were closed and they returned home to a long luncheon and Sunday afternoons on the front porch.  We want to go back to the days when the hallways were filled and each classroom was filled with a different group studying together.  We want to go back to the days when the offering overflowed and the pews were filled and everyone knew exactly which church stood for what principle.  We want to go back.

  We can't go back.

  And I believe that's a good thing.

  We can't go back any more than Adam and Eve could retreat back into the Garden of Eden, slipping beneath the watchful gaze of the cherubim stationed at entrance.  Adam and Eve may have longed for the sinless days of the Garden, but they couldn't go back.  All that was left for them was to accept their rebuke and move forward, setting their backs to the days of the Garden and seeking to live with the new constraints that were placed upon them.  Life would never be the same.

  But that doesn't mean that life can't be good.  It doesn't mean that life couldn't be faithful and fruitful and joyous--it just meant that life would be different.

  I believe the same is true for the church.  We'll never go back to the old days, but that doesn't mean that the days ahead aren't filled with wondrous possibility.  It doesn't mean that we can't be just as faithful and grow in new and joyous ways.  It doesn't mean that the classrooms can't be filled once more, that the pews won't overflow.

  It simply means that it will be different.  It may look a little different, feel a little different, but that's because it will be different.  It's different because we grow as people, as a congregation, and God does new things in our life each day, calls us to live in new ways--just as faithful, but new.  We have to be willing to adapt, as hard as it may be.  We have to be willing to grow, and accept that while we may not know the answers, we trust that each step will be taken in faithfulness, and that God will use our humble efforts.

  So we can't go back.  As individuals we can't go back to the innocence we had as children, and as congregations we can't necessarily recapture the same life we had in our best times.  But that doesn't mean God doesn't have something wonderful in store for us.  It simply means that we have to trust the God in whose hands our futures lie.  We have to trust that the City of Light that God has prepared for us at the end of our days is more rich and wondrous then we can imagine.  We have to trust that God has something good in store, something that we cannot anticipate.

  Humanity had to turn its back on the Garden of Eden.  But all the while, God is preparing a place for us--a new heaven and a new earth, with a river filled with the water of life, where the Lamb will sit on the throne and the tree of life will stand tall.  As a people, we move from the Garden at the beginning to the city at the end.  Going back isn't the faithful way--we go forward, into the future God has prepared for us.

3/2/2012

Holy God,

  Here I am this morning.  I have no idea what this day might hold, what opportunities you have placed into it, what joys and stresses might arise.  It is a day of uncertainty, of wonder, and I move into it with trepidation and faith.  Trepidation because I do not know what it will be like.  Faith because I know I can overcome any challenge with your strength within me.

  You alone have made this day.  You have blessed me with the chance to live it, to walk in it, to enjoy it.  I pray that I might glorify you on this day, that I might offer it up to you, that I might look for chances to worship you.  You are my God and King, and all of life should be about you.  Help me to set aside anything that does not bring honor to your name, that this life might be a worthwhile thank you gift to you.

  Amen