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Two roads
diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
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And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. [i]
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This is one of my favorite poems and I have often seen my
faith journey reflected in its verses. It’s the epitome of the statement, “I
came to a crossroad and had to make a choice…”
We
do those things Robert Frost talks about. We measure the pros and cons of
taking each road, whether it’s what we’re going to do on our next vacation,
what we’re going to have for dinner, or where we will next be going to church.
Does it have a good youth program or sing the kind of music I like? Do I like
the minister, or can I at least stand to hear him or her preach every week?
Sometimes our choices are not about theology or denomination. Sometimes they
are just about looking down the road and thinking it might be better than where
we have been.
But
what if our faith journeys are not always about carefully measured choices?
Paul’s conversion story gives us a different model of faith. How would we
respond if we were knocked on our behinds and blinded for three days? What if
that was the way we encountered the risen Lord, not necessarily for the first
time, but at any point in our lives?
Would
we trust the voice who spoke to us? Would we be freaked out that He knows our
worst secrets, but still calls us by name? Would we follow a complete stranger
who is called to wait with us in this time of discovery? Would we abandon our
old lives and identities and take on a new way of life?
Reading
through the book of Acts tells a remarkable story. Until this week, we have
followed the disciples of Jesus as they begin the process of birthing the
Christian church. Enter Saul… defender of the Jewish faith and persecutor of
Christians. Can you imagine the potential for disbelief that must have
surrounded these events? This Jesus, who spoke to him in this striking moment,
was the very one whom Saul sought to discredit, and his followers to destroy.
And yet Saul did not turn away from the crisis that led him to Christ. He
committed totally to the new life that Jesus called him to. He changed his name
and turned 180 degrees in the way he was living his life and in his life’s
mission. And with Paul’s leadership, the church didn’t just grow, it flourished
and spread much farther than the original disciples could ever have imagined.
The
way that Luke tells the story, we are reminded that God often, and maybe even
mostly, chooses to work in unusual and surprising ways. Don’t just think about
the courage that it took for Paul to turn his life around… think also about the
bravery of Ananias, who took Paul in and helped him begin this new life to
which he had been called.
Paul
is called out of his determination to wipe out the Christian community into the
role of its most prolific spokesperson and missionary. He is called to give
this good news to everyone, kings and Gentile alike. As we continue in the
story of Acts, we see Paul’s ministry take shape. Paul gives up his place of
power and enters into a nomadic life, often suffering for his unwillingness to press
ahead for Jesus.
Eric
Berrato writes:
[In
Acts,] Luke also reveals what is central to the gospel. The good news is
expansive and broad. It reaches to the widest edges of the world seeking the
lost, but God also turns to the powerful of the world and demands justice,
grace, and peace. Yet this good news comes with a price, a price we must wonder
if we are willing to embrace as Jesus’ disciples.[ii]
I
think this story is important as a part of the Eastertide narrative because it
reminds us that the story of salvation doesn’t end with the resurrection of
Jesus, but because it is the beginning of our stories. Looking back, I can see
the times when Jesus knocked me off my metaphorical horse and made unimportant
to me the plans that I envisioned for myself, setting me on a new path. And let
me tell you, there were a lot of tears, a lot of blindness of not knowing what
was going to happen next. And I’m sure you’re all tired of me saying this – but
while this was not the life I ever imagined, it was definitely the one I needed.
Today’s
lessons ask us important questions:
- · How does this story give us a new imagination for what it means to live out our faith?
- · Do we have the zeal for the gospel of love and grace, or is
our zeal for something else, like having other people mirror our own beliefs?
- · Is our zeal wholly committed to serving God’s people, or is
it sometimes misdirected or even destructive?
Even
the most liturgical among us know what it means when someone asks what it means
to be saved. But I’d like for us to think about the faith in another dimension.
We refer to this story from Acts as Paul’s conversion story. And I think it’s
important that we remember that conversion is not just about believing in
something new, but about having a change of heart and turning in a new
direction.[iii]
When
I became a member of the church, I took this vow: To confess Jesus
Christ as Savior, put my whole trust in his grace, and promise to serve him as
my Lord; with prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness. I was 12 – what
did I know? I have spent the last 50 years growing into those vows. And at
various times in my life, I have seen glimpses of what that kind of life – that
kind of faith – really looks like. And it’s glorious… it’s hard, but it’s
glorious.
The
process of conversion, of dedicating our lives to God and Christ, is ongoing
and will not be completed until we are reunited with him in glory. God isn’t
finished with any of us yet. God will keep working, sometimes gently calling,
and other times knocking us out of our comfortable routines into something new
and dangerous and life-giving. To quote writer Madeline L’Engle: "We
have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us
to be more than we are."[iv]
That’s
not to say that we are called to be reckless, but if the story of Paul’s
conversion and indeed his whole ministry are any kind of example, they at least
call us to reconsider whether God is calling us to live out faith from our comfort
zones or someplace more… somewhere bigger and scarier. Who knows when God will
show up on our happy little roads where we are doing what we think is exactly
right and turn our lives completely around? And when it happens, how will we
respond?
In
today’s gospel lesson, we hear Jesus ask Peter three times if he loves him, and
each time when the answer is a “yes,” even an agonizing “yes,” Jesus instructs,
“Feed my sheep.” Serving God and Jesus means serving others. It’s not just
about taking care of a building or making sure an institution survives. It is all
about loving and caring for those who are most in need of the goodness and the
grace of God. For many, the work we do and the grace we share might be the only
evidence some will ever see that God exists.
One
of the biggest dangers is to be mistaken that we must be gifted to do the work
God calls us to. It’s natural – we want to get it right, do a good job, and
maybe receive recognition for our godly work. We often turn down an opportunity
to serve because we don’t think that it is our calling. Again, the words of
Madeline remind us that we must make a shift in attitude.
…Not
one of us is qualified, but it seems that God continually chooses the most
unqualified to do his work, to bear his glory. If we are qualified, we tend to
think that we have done the job ourselves. If we are forced to accept our
evident lack of qualification, then there's no danger that we will confuse
God's work with our own, or God's glory with our own.[v]
German
pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer left a legacy of faith that amazes and frightens the
most faithful Christian. After Hitler rose to power, Bonhoeffer left his post
at Union Theological Seminary in New York and his new fiancée behind to return
to Germany. There, he would speak out against the growing nationalism of the
German church, finally leaving to form the Confessing Church, opening a
seminary for the new denomination, and gathered those sermons and teachings into
what have become some of today’s most popular Christian books, The Cost of
Discipleship and Life Together.[vi]
When
their ministry was outlawed by the Nazi government, he traveled in secret to
dozens of German villages, teaching in what he called “A Seminary on the Run”.
And despite being a pacifist earlier in his ministry, he eventually worked in
concert with others who believed that Hitler and the menace he engendered could
only be dealt with one way. Bonhoeffer spent two years in prison for his part
in an assassination attempt on Hitler’s life. He was executed at Flossenbürg
concentration camp on April 9, 1945, at the order of Hitler himself, just two
weeks before the United States Army liberated the camp. When he died, he
famously remarked to another prisoner, "This is the end — but for me, the
beginning."[vii]
Bonhoeffer
wrote some of the most important theological reflections of the 20th
century. I leave you with this quote today. And when you are inclined to take
the safe road and live life the way you expected it to be, remember these words:
I'm still discovering, right up to this moment, that it is
only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. I mean
living unreservedly in life's duties, problems, successes and failures,
experiences and perplexities. In so doing, we throw ourselves completely into
the arms of God.[viii]
We are called to throw ourselves completely into the arms of
God, knowing that no matter which road we take, God is always with us, and that
makes all the difference.
Amen.
Peace, Deb
[iv]
Madeline L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art”, p.58,
Convergent Books
[v]
Ibid, pg 55.
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