All In

Last week I spent a lot of time reflecting on a sermon that I told on February 22. The main illustration in that story was my own experience as an adolescent, considering a jump from a hayloft on my grandfather's farm.

I sat there for what must have been hours, considering carefully the
age-old question: to jump or not to jump. It was a beautiful day, and I
had nothing but time. It was mid summer. The northern Michigan
hardwoods in full green. The fallow fields of grasses swaying in the
wind. Two cows - black and white - grazing in the pasture. Earlier
that week they had been my bbgun targets. They seemed not to mind - the
sting from a horsefly (why didn't they call them cowflies?) posing a
more startling irritation than the gentle thwack of a bb.
(Incidentally, a bbgun will do a lot more damage to the window of a 57 Chevy
pickup than it will to a cow's hide). I sat on the weathered wood
with my legs dangling over the edge, considering the possibilities for failure
in my leap of faith. I could catch my pants on a nail or splinter.
The impact might break my leg. I could twist an ankle on a hidden
rock. I could end up with a mouth full of cow manure. I considered,
too, the prospects of glory: Having done it; having overcome some
fear; flying for a few brief moments; bragging rights with my brother;
knowing that I would add some measure of legitimacy to my pursuit of
my grandfather's heroic childhood tales.

At the first service, I told the congregation the outcome of my boyhood adventure, but at the second service, I omitted the final detail - did I jump or not? I left them hanging - unintentionally. On the way out of the service, at least 25 people asked me whether I jumped or not, and several waited more than a week with the question still with them.

Unfortunately, however, the sermon was not primarily about my boyhood leap. It was a faith analogy - and quite an obvious one at that. Now I know that the hearers are intelligent people, and the analogy wasn't lost on their ears. But isn't it a powerful commentary how we take such great interest in the heroic (or foolish) adventures of others, as distractions from answering our own hard questions?

So many people that day commented with a knowing grin, "So I just have to ask you, did you jump?" And in retrospect, my reply ought to have been, "You tell me first. In your faith journey, have you gone all in? Have you weighed the options and taken the leap, come what may? If you won't tell me, I won't tell you."

Mark 11:27 and following says,

They arrived again in Jerusalem, and while Jesus
was walking in the temple courts, the chief priests, the teachers of the law
and the elders came to him. "By what authority are you doing these
things?" they asked. "And who gave you authority to do
this?"

Jesus replied, "I will ask you one question. Answer me, and I will tell you by what authority I am doing these things. John's baptism -- was it from heaven, or from men?
Tell me!"

They discussed it among themselves and said, "If we say, "From heaven, he will ask, "Then why didn't you believe him? But if we say, 'rom Men' . . . " (they feared the people, for everyone held that John really was a prophet.)

So they answered Jesus, "We don't know."

Jesus said, "Neither will I tell you by what
authority I am doing these things."

There's something about committing to the journey before the treasures of faith are revealed. The Fellowship of the Ring wouldn't have existed without Frodo's leap. Neo wouldn't have been able to discover the secrets of the Matrix without choosing the pill of no return. Kate Winslett's character on the Titanic wouldn't have tasted the fullness of life had she not gone below decks to dance with the fiddlers. We won't discover the fullness God has to offer without coming down off the fence, without leaping from our figurative haylofts.

Grace and Peace,
Ed

Many thanks for the photo, entitled "MJ Jumps" by Anna Pieka Valentine, used by permission. http://www.flickr.com/photos/annapiekavalentine/2934256901/