A Sermon from First Church, Scarborough…
A sermon offered by the Rev. Ian F. “Jack” Steeves in the public worship of the First Congregational Church of Scarborough, Maine on Sunday, October 7, 2007. The principal reading was II Timothy 1:1-14.
“I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline “(II Timothy 1:6-7).
“Real World, Real Faith”
The Apostle Paul’s object in writing is to inspire and strengthen Timothy for his duties as a Presbyter (Minister) in Ephesus. Timothy was still young and he would have a hard task in battling against the heresies and the spiritual infections that were bound to threaten the Church and his own ministry. The older preacher writes in order to keep the young preacher’s courage high and his efforts strenuous in a time of “change.”
Paul’s Second Letter to Timothy speaks to those of us who are in transition that is the polite word for “change.” Is there anyone present who is not in transition? When we are between relationships, between jobs, between homes, between infancy and youth, youth and old age, we are all in transition. We are all Interims. We are all people of “the in-between times.” We are all transiting the year 2007. We have made it to the autumn of the year.
Autumn is a season of discernible transition. Now the air is scented with dry leaves, bent grasses and the very last wild flowers. The crispness in the morning foretells of woolen sweaters, chilled fingers and smoky fires. Across the forest floor spills leaf confetti, colored amber, burgundy, and persimmon. When the Apostle Paul writes, “stir into flame the gift of God,” I can see the fire bushes at home turning crimson. Caught up in the glory of an autumnal moment, we can forget the changes it portends.
Autumn speaks of ends, to be certain, but also of new beginnings. At the same time the garden is harvested, the new seed is blessed, and the new bulb is planted. There really is no interruption of time between seasons. Fall’s riotous colors sound a trumpet blast, but also whisper of a winter’s rest, a deserved requiem for the summer now past.
Paul spoke and wrote as one who knew directly life’s transitions and the hardships that a gospel life on the road entailed. He had been like a person caught up in a powerful wind, yanked from self-righteousness by a vision of God’s truth on the Damascus road. It was a vision that at first blinded him. In one sense, the Spirit brought about a death within him, but, in another sense, it transformed him. It awakened him. It arrested him. Paul became a man of faith that carried him through life and death to new life. It was that transition that the older Paul was sharing in his letter to the younger Timothy.
We know faith is a gift that cannot be bought, cajoled, demanded, earned or stolen. It has a mighty leverage among the people of faith. Those who have faith realize that the miracles they accomplish are not their own doing but God’s. With humility we can dismiss our achievements lightly.
We also know that something worthwhile most often requires time, patience, and some sacrifice. More impatient people, struggling through a transition, simply want to get it over with. In near panic, they seize any job, spouse or house, fantasy or fad just to have one. They may well discover the hazards of hurry. We seek to avoid them.
Because we make so many passages in this earthly life, we can deal more easily with life’s bumpy transitions, seeing them as a chance for creativity and not just survival. At such moments, we are intensely alive, experiencing gravity and grace of life and death. At such times, we know why people have two good hands: one to cherish and hold tight when that is proper, the other to freely loose what is beyond human control, and just let it go.
We understand the late Peter Marshall’s old image of the spring and the stream. If the spring does not flow outward, it soon becomes stagnant. If the stream loses touch with its source, it soon evaporates.
Our lives are nourished by the calm assurance of God’s abiding love for God’s people and all of creation. But we cannot stop there. Indeed, as we approach the turn of the year, we must move from “a new beginning,” to the reality of “the journey continues.” Faith spills over into the messy stream of our daily living, full of change and anxiety, crisis and opportunity.
Looking within in contemplation and moving outward in human service are an integrated spiritual process. John Westerhoff, once a pastor in Presque Isle, has defined the Christian vocation (and life) as the meeting of “my great love with the world’s great need.” In the closing weeks of 2007, we have “great love” and the world continues to have “great need.”
To echo the old Latin dictum: Ubi Amor Ibi Fides, or, “Where there is love, there is faith.” We are a people, noticeably increased in numbers this morning. We are also a people of faith. The First Church is a faith community distinguished, not by overt holiness or even stability but by absolute dependence on God and on each other. We simply do not know how, and we need not learn, to go through life alone. Those who lose everything or risk such a loss realize that what they hold precious is only a tool or a prop. The tasks or possessions that shore up our lives must sometimes collapse for us to rediscover that our God is our astounding support. It is when the greatest demands are made on our faith and our lives that we rise beyond our limitations and stretch out and overreach our former selves.
The daily challenges and changes we all face are the stuff from which God’s reign on earth is being built. Like Lois, Eunice, Timothy, Paul, and our good Lord himself, we, too, are empowered by the Spirit to live faithfully and to imagine all that God still wants to do with the measures of faith we do possess.
