Things you find when cleaning your room: sermons from 2 years ago

I have a tendency to save pieces of paper.  It’s usually because I need to do something with those pieces of paper, but just don’t have time to do whatever needs being done.  So what usually happens is I place the piece of paper on top of the other pieces of paper to be dealt with when I have the time (which never seems to materialize) resulting in “don’t forget me!” piles which I promptly forget about.

So in attempting to clean my room/closet this evening I came across one of these aforementioned piles of paper.  And what fun little unexpected treasure did I find in this pile, you ask?  Well, perhaps not exactly treasure, but most certainly needed and timely for me.  I found the words I’d spoken around communion one Sunday nearly 2 years ago (clearly I’d been avoiding that pile for a long time!), words which I really needed reminding of . . . (which is kind of strange, when you think about it–preaching to oneself in the future? Nutty).

So here they are:

A few years back I was in a Masters program in Montana and loved it. I love school. I’m in my element there—I do well, I feel challenged, the environment is dynamic, the conversation vibrant. I was one of the top students in my program and my professors really encouraged me to think about continuing on for my PhD. I felt so comfortable there, in that environment that I quickly conceded. I traveled around, visited some schools, talked with faculty I’d want to work with and applied.

I didn’t get in anywhere. I was devastated. My professors were confused and chalked it up to it just being a really competitive year. In any case, I was about to finish grad school in just a few short months and had absolutely no idea what I was going to do next. I was directionless, discouraged and frankly, apathetic about things at that point.

A friend of mine, who is a doctor, was moving to New York City that summer and invited me to join her. She said she’d cover rent and utilities, I’d just have to worry about my personal expenses. It sounded pretty appealing to me—I mean, how many chances to you have to live in Manhattan rent free with a really dear friend? I hadn’t decided for sure, but was strongly leaning in that direction when my friends arrived in Missoula for my graduation that May.

Now, about 8 years before that I had been studying in Costa Rica and was bitten by the intentional community bug. I observed a community there, and my friends and I talked about it quite a bit. When I returned home, I continued to talk about it. In fact, for years I used to talk about (only half joking) about moving to Montana and starting a commune where we raised alpacas and knit all day. When all was said and done, however, I more or less gave up on that idea. The older I got, the less feasible it seemed, and I began to let the dream go.

So, needless to say, I was a little floored when my friends showed up for graduation and said, “hey, don’t move to New York. Come back home and let’s start that intentional community.”

It took 8 years from when that seed was planted until I saw any movement in its actualization. And it came when I least expected it, when I’d all but given up hope, and was utterly discouraged about other occurrences in my life. But God was working during that whole time.

And so the Israelites in the desert: they were discouraged, frustrated, irritated with each other and their leaders, feeling aimless and directionless wandering through the wilderness. Yet God provided for them each step of the way and ultimately led them to God’s promised land.

And we as a church are in what might seem like a discouraging place. We might be frustrated and irritated with each other and our leaders. We might feel aimless and directionless. But God is still working in this time.

We need to remember our story. The story of the Israelites and God’s provision is a part of our story. How God has provided for and led each of us individually, such as in that time during grad school for me, is a part of our story. How God has continually, over and over again provided for our church is a part of our story. We talk about our history a lot here at Vibrant because we believe it’s crucial to remember where we came from and who we are and why we are here. We need to remind each other . . .

Remembering is not a passive act. It’s a reclamation of who we are as children of God, it’s a call to action: to have faith, to trust, to hope—to keep walking forward. The prophets continually called on the Israelites to remember . . . and God gives us ample opportunity, both formal and otherwise to do the same. Let us continue to remind ourselves and each other . . .

On the night that Jesus was betrayed . . .