Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 10:17-22; October 13, 2024; Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost
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Encroaching upon the dawn of independence, he now disallows me from sitting inside with him. I can’t even be at a far-off table at a distance or around the corner. Nope.
And so, I am forced to wait outside.
If the weather is poor, I’ll sit in my car with a book. Do an email or two. If the weather is nice, and if I’m being good, I’ll go for a walk around the neighborhood. But if I’m being bad, I’ll find a bench to doom-scroll the news on my phone.
And so, true to form, on Tuesday, Seth asked me to wait outside, and as the weather [here] was pristine, I took my place on a nearby bench, waited, and began scrolling.
Soon, a young boy emerged, enthusiastically walking with a hop and a skip, jumping on and off the cobble stone curb and then back on again. His grandmother (I presume) trailing a bit of distance behind was trying to keep up, saying something like, “…be careful! Don’t do that! Do you want it to happen again?”
I surmised that what she didn’t want to have happen again was for him to fall once more and re-break his arm, for this boy wore a giant cast from above his elbow right down past his wrist.
And yet, despite her many protests, this kid in his cast just kept skipping. Kept jumping. All with a grin on his face, laughing, loudly exclaiming, “woo-hoo!” in between each hop and step.
And so, on my bench, I sat there and smiled. And thought, this boy has it right. And privately thanked him for taking me away from the ugliness on my device.
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A couple of weeks earlier, our friend Peter Davis sent me a photo of the quote that adorns our bulletin today.
You can read the text with me: “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly worn out and screaming, “woo-hoo, what a ride!’”
I particularly like the part about chocolate and wine.
But doesn’t that quote just make you smile?
Doesn’t that also get it right?
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You know, as it strange as it sounds, I usually love officiating memorial services, even more than weddings. More so, of course, when its for someone who has lived a long and happy life.
You see, something amazing usually happens there, besides the coming together of community, friends, and family. And I think it has a lot to do with the sharing of stories. The depth and character. Of and about a life that once danced. And that danced a variety of dances at that.
Breakdancing, salsa-ing, tango, and flamenco.
A life that when regaled makes mine feel so dull. That gives me a kick in the butt to say, stop playing it so safe, you fool. Stop putting things off till later. But get out there and begin skidding in sideways now.
Because one day, sooner than I, or any of you want, we will be the one for whom others are attending. In whose name and memory hymns are being sung and scriptures proclaimed.
And as we will also one day be before God laying bare our own account, of the life we lived, our faults and achievements, our sin and ethics, I think the last thing any of us would want to hear from Peter, or Gabriel, or whoever is at those pearly gates, is the question, “why is your account so boring?” “Why are you are so preserved like a pickle?” “We don’t like pickles in Heaven” “Just what did you do with your time; with the gift of life that God gave you, to be lived, to be enjoyed, to be experienced?”
Our text from Hebrews today suggests that we should approach the throne of grace, indeed the source of all goodness and life, with boldness. With boldness, my friends. Emptying our cupboards bare, living life with some healthy degree of reckless abandon; not choosing to play it safe, but to play it right, taking the risks God wants us to take along the way. So, to grow. So, to smile. So that our example might allow others to more easily hop and skip along their way.
God’s going to know what we are thinking and dreaming anyway, the intentions and thoughts of our hearts, as its worded. So let us intend to live life freely, like a child who has little or nothing to lose, well, besides maybe another fall or break or two.
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Our text from Mark this week, which we read in Bible Study on Wednesday, is from the 10th chapter, verses 17-22. I encourage you to listen again for God’s word:
As Jesus was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, ‘Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’
Jesus said to him, ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.”
The man said to Jesus, ‘Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.’
Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’
When the man heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.
Now, typically we hear this as only material possessions. As money. But what if today we considered that word to mean something more… like, all of the things that possessed him; that took hold of him; like all of the things that take hold of us and prevent us from being daring. From dancing. And from sacrificing our creature comforts to make a difference in the lives of others and our communities. So that we all might skid along sideways, experiencing the joy and fullness of life together, without any sort of cast(e) getting in our way.
In the verses right before this story of the Rich Man, like literally right before in verses 16 and 17 of the same chapter, we hear Jesus tell his disciples: “Truly, I tell you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it. And he took children up in arms and blessed them.”
In other words, my friends, if we are to inherit eternal life, to receive the Kingdom of God, to be warmly greeted by Peter and the saints up there, as well as those down here, then we are to live life like a kid who dreams; with a bit of reckless abandon, who doesn’t have a single possession in charge, inhibiting us from jumping on and off the curb, singing “woo-hoo, what a ride this is!”
Allowing for bystanders on benches, forced to wait outside, to see a welcomed change of scenery.
For as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, that old wonderful pastor and theologian ever reminds us, the cost of discipleship is to be valued as risk. Risking even our safety and comfort, so that everyone might dream and see a better day, where there is less ugliness and more peace.
And so that in the end we personally don’t meet God in a well-preserved husk, saying we played it safe – I’ve got no wounds or breaks — but that we greet God showing how we risked it all and maybe got hurt along the way.
But that it was all worth it, and wonderful,
and that it made a difference.
Amen.
