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Boy Scout Tr #240

Scripture: 1 Cor. 12:3-13

The first real movie I remember seeing was "101 Dalmations" in that theatre from the front row. And I was sure that Cruella DeVille was going to drive her car right out of the screen and over my terrified body. Shortly after that the movie theatre had a fire and closed. After that, there was even less to do in Heppner if you were a kid. There was an outdoor swimming pool in Heppner. Next to riding a horse, I loved going to the pool and swimming. We didn't get to do it often enough for me because we lived 9 miles out of town and we didn't come to town unless we had to and often it was a quick trip. My Mom got us into swimming lessons as soon as we were old enough. Perhaps I was 6 or 7 or 8 years old. The goal of the class was to teach us to swim down in the deep end on the other side of the rope. The instructor would tell us everyday, that on the last day of class we would all go down to the deep end and be expected to swim from one side to the other. I suspect he was trying to motivate us; but I was scared to death. I couldn't swim across the pool. The day got closer and closer. I just knew, on that day, I was going to sink to the bottom of the pool and never come up. How did I know? Because, at the shallow end, I could kick, I could move my arms, I could swim under water, do somersaults backward and forward, handstands; but when I ran out of air, my feet had to find the bottom before I could get my head up to breathe. I was doomed.

Well, when the last day of class came, the day of the deep water test, a miracle happened! The day of reckoning came and my Mom did not take me into town for my lesson. I don't know if she forgot, or something came up, but I wasn't going to ask any questions. I just knew that I was saved and that's all that mattered.

I did learn to swim about a year or two later. That was another miracle. It just happened one day. I remember it well. It happened at a lake. There was no side to hang onto, no roped off boundary that told me the water was over my head on the other side, no instructor, no lifeguard. The lake was full of family--cousins, my two brothers and my sister. The adults were fishing and the kids were in the lake. I spent a lot of time hanging onto a free floating log, climbing up on it, jumping off. Gradually my fear gave way to the excitement of taking a risk. We would go further away from the muddy shore hanging onto the log. The older kids would push the log away from me sometimes and I would have to swim toward it or toward the shore. One of those times, when I was chasing after the log--trying to reach it--I discovered myself swimming and taking breaths--somewhere between a dog paddle and the crawl. But I was moving through the water and not having to stop to take a breath! I was ecstatic and shouted for everyone to hear, "I'm swimming! I'm swimming!" No one was as impressed as I was, I'm sure. I felt free! I felt strong! I had finally got it! And the very next time I went swimming at the Heppner pool, I took the deep water test and passed so I could swim on the other side of the rope..

I tell you this story because it describes my spiritual life pretty accurately. I hang on, hang on, hang on......then let go. I love the challenge of learning and taking risks and doing new things--but only after I cling to what I know, to what I believe is safe for a long time. I'm a cautious risk-taker, a thoughtful progressive thinker. I learned to swim in a lake where the boundaries were not defined, hanging on then letting go, in muddy water, not in the swimming pool with its concrete sides, crystal clear water. I learned to swim with family surrounding me, with the people I trusted the most, my community. Those two things have been important when I take risks: having a safe community around me and having something to hang onto before I let go.

Although the Scripture read this morning did not include the traditional Pentecost story in the second chapter of Acts, most of you know the story. The disciples were hanging on to what they knew--Jesus, who was now a memory and a spiritual presence, not a physical presence. They were all in one place, hanging onto each other as well, when suddenly in rush the Holy Spirit setting them on fire for Jesus, especially Peter, who instantly preached to the crowd who was gathered from many nations, bewildered, amazed, and perplexed. When the Holy Spirit comes, it can sweep us off our feet, if we can manage to let go of what we cling to.

I grew up in a family with a clear definition of roles--traditional roles--both on the ranch and in church. I sang in the choir, I played the organ, I helped with Vacation Bible School. Not once did I see myself standing behind the pulpit. Not in my wildest dreams. If I did have such a dream--it was a nightmare because I was terrified of public speaking and was sure I would die of fright on the spot. Not once did I see myself owning and managing my father's wheat ranch. That just wasn't in the picture eventhough I dreamed of owning my own horse ranch.... pure fantasy, not reality. Not once did I imagine myself as the person in charge, a leader, a questioner, a person who challenges assumptions. I just didn't see myself as challenging tradition, rocking the boat, or stepping outside of what was expected. What I wanted in my growing up years was to be, well, normal, or NOT strange. However, I also had this inner struggle that kept nudging me to step outside the boundaries of tradition. Holy Spirit nudges.

I wasn't set on fire for Jesus like Peter. I can't remember the exact time or place that I was born again. I was nudged. It was a slow, long labor. My mother was part of that nudge. She forged the way for me. Not once did she tell what she thought I should do. She allowed me to find my own way. She grew up in Nebraska and never learned to swim as a girl. She forced herself to learn to swim as an adult. She told me that whenever she took us kids to the swimming pool--she just couldn't watch us in the water. It was too traumatic for her to watch us do something she was so afraid of herself. I watched my Mom do many things like that including her journey in the middle of her life into the ordained ministry. She would do what she needed to do, but not without some fear or discomfort, and therefore, an incredible amount of courage.

I am a lot more like my mother than I want to admit. All my life, I have tried not to be like my mother. I have never seen my mother set on fire for Jesus! She's just too calm, too thoughtful, too serious, too intellectual, too reserve, too, well, midwestern, and too Methodist (who are a lot like Minnesota Lutherans). The Holy Spirit has nudged us, rather than set us on fire.

Paul's Letter to the Corinthians describes the gifts of the Spirit rather than the fire of the Spirit...there are many gifts, all from one Spirit: the gift of wisdom, the gift of prophecy, the gift of teaching, healing, knowledge, discernment, tongues. Paul says, "All these are activated by one and the same Spirit..." Activated, which I believe to mean that the gifts hidden within us are discovered or uncovered. The gifts come to the surface. It is the Holy Spirit nudge that helps us to stop clinging to our fears. It is the Holy Spirit that gives us the courage to use these gifts. It is the community that surrounds us, that gives these gifts validation and give us encouragement. We need the church, the community where we can practice using our gifts, people who believe in us.

Whether you feel set on fire by the Holy Spirit or nudged by the Holy Spirit, let me warn you, you will not be at peace until you respond to that mighty or gentle wind. There will be a restlessness in your soul. There will be a need to make some sort of progress, even if it is slow. Ann Lamott describes how she responds to the grace of God that comes to her through the nudging of Holy Spirit.

When she and her son moved to a bigger house, Sam was about 10. In the old home their bedrooms were next to each other. In the new place, there were two rooms and two short hallways that separated their bedrooms. He was too afraid to sleep in his own room in the new house. So Ann tried all the usual ways of giving Sam the courage to sleep in his room: a nightlight, bribes, Power Ranger sheets. They didn’t work. So together, they came up with a plan. The first night Sam would sleep in his sleeping bag right beside Ann's bed. The next night, three feet away. The next night three more feet away, until he was in his own room. A few times during the whole process, Ann would go sit with him when he called out to her in the night. Her nearness helped. She wrote: "Sometimes grace works like water wings when you feel you are sinking." This plan went on until he was sleeping in his own room. Ann wrote: "That's me, trying to make any progress at all with family, in work, relationships, self-image: scooch, scooch, stall; scooch, stall, catastrophic reversal; bog, bog, scooch. I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kinds of things; also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace's arrival. But, no, it's clog and slog and scooch, on the floor, in silence, in the dark."

I like Ann Lamott because she validates my own faltering journey with grace, and God, and the nudgings of the Holy Spirit. I plod along. I cling to the old ways. I stall. I experience catastrophic reversals. The old way stops working long ago, I still cling. Until finally, with one more nudge, I take the plunge and let go, finding out that I knew how to swim all along. It was already there, I just needed to peel away the layers of fear, anxiety, nervousness, discomfort, or whatever was holding me back.

However, I have noticed that I need every second of that laborious journey. Ann says it this way, "I suppose that if you were snatched out of the mess, you'd miss the lesson; the lesson is the slog."

There's more slog and bog and scooching in life that there is abracadabra. People out there need to know that. We aren't talking about the magic of the Holy Spirit in here. We are regular people fumbling and bumbling our way through life. We gather together here because this is a safe place to practice our faith. This is one way we stay in love with God and humanity. This is where we sometimes see Christ in each other. This is where we are taught to swim. Out there is where we actually learn to swim, in the muddy, murky waters of the world. This is where we know we are not alone. We have each other. We have the presence of the living, risen Christ. We have the Holy Spirit, who continues to nudge us to share who we are and what we have with others. Thanks be to God!

Amen.