“The Courage to Change”
Genesis 5: 14; Hebrews 11: 1-3, 8-12; Mark 1: 9-13
February 25, 1996
With everything and everyone that belonged to him, Abraham set out to seek a new home. At the time, he was 75 years old, settled in, respected, well-known, and ready to enjoy the golden years in Haran. And then, suddenly, we read of this call. “Leave Haran, leave what you know, leave the comfortable life, and go on a journey. Go out into the wilderness.”
Can’t you just hear the neighbors? “Abraham, what’s gotten into you? Where in the world do you think you’re going?”
‘I don’t know. All I know is that I’m going on a journey.” ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? What is this – some
wild dream? Some postponed mid-life crisis? Have you thought of Sarah? And what about that promising nephew of yours – Lot? He’s just starting in business. And furthermore, it’s dangerous out there. It’s a wilderness, and you might encounter all sorts of harmful things.”
“But, but I’ve been called.” And so we read that Abraham leaves Iran and goes out to the wilderness without knowing where his final destination will be. For Paul, as well as for countless Christians throughout the ages, this journey that Abraham undertakes is the great symbol of faith.
This is the second in a series on Abraham, our spiritual forebear. And it’s the second in the series on our “senior years,” – the second half of life, where conventional wisdom suggests that we play it safe, sit back, and enjoy the good times. But for Abraham, the second half of life meant something else. It meant responding to a call, taking a risk, and leaving the known for the unknown.
But first, we might ask what the nature of a call really is. What is it that Abraham heard? Was it a resonant voice that sounded sort of like Charlton Heston and identified itself as coming from God? Was it something that looked and sounded like the voice of an angel, or the appearance of a dove? I think not. This is where we often become confused. We await a call as if it were coming to us from central casting. And thus, we either miss or ignore the call because it comes in many different voices and forms.
Last week, Peter began this dialogue with us by defining a call. Let me try my definition. Fundamentally, I believe, a call is anything that we might label as new information that appears to us. Any information that asks us to make a basic change, to do life differently. You can get a call when you learn that your company is moving to a different part of the country. You can get a call when you learn of a bad diagnosis. You can get a call when you’ve finished one Chapter of life and are about to start a new one. You can get a call when you begin to read the want adds and hear about downsizing. You can get a call when you are baptized. All of these are or can be calls. A call is some new information that summons us to make a decision. For me, a call is anything that elicits a change and would cause you to go on some kind of a journey, either an inward journey that changes the shape of your life, or an outward journey to some far-off country. My point here is that we need not get hung up on the nature of the call. The real question is: What do you do about it? How do you respond? That’s the real dilemma. Abraham left Haran to take on a new role and journeyed into the wilderness. But what about yourselves? What has your response to calls been? Do you or do you not go out into the far country? Do you or do you not take the risk of journeying into the wilderness?
The one factor that I believe will determine your response is how you view the story of your life. I’m told there is a new type of therapy being practiced today. It’s ca11ai “narrative therapy.” The central belief of this new method of psychology is that each of us is involved in creating our own life stories, which we repeat endlessly to ourselves and others. Each of us, the practitioners of this therapy believe, is constantly writing and interpreting different aspects of their story, but the basic storyline is constant. The stories can be either tragedies or comedies, epics or .love stories – and you, the writer of your story, are either in a , role as a victim or a hero. But whatever role you play, you are the principal actor in your narrative. You are the one who dictates what the storyline will sound like.
The purpose of narrative therapy is to refine and enlarge one’s understanding of his or her story.
There’s a sad tale told about a young man who went to one of these narrative therapists. He’d been going to doctors for years and thought of himself as “psychologically incurable.” This was of comfort to him because at least it made him something – “incurable.” The new therapist annoyed him by saying: ‘Well, I don’t believe you are as sick as you believe you are.”
She asked him to imagine he was perfectly normal and that all his past experiences were simply ways in which he could and new meanings. The patient never came back for the next appointment. He didn’t want to be on a journey called wholeness and health. His version of himself as an incurable fit into his life story in a much better way. This new information was just not acceptable.
Now it’s easy to dismiss that young man as sick or misguided. But let me suggest that it’s not easy for any of us to rewrite our basic stories. It’s much easier to ignore or dismiss any new information.
Returning once again to Abraham, we read that he heard the call, let in the new information, opened himself up to Change, took on a new role, and re-worked his story. Perhaps there were others in Haran who received the same call, the same information. “God wants you to leave and go out into the wilderness. and become a father of a new people.” But that information didn’t fit other people’s stories. They knew how their story was to be played out, and it didn’t include a journey, nor did it include a new role. And so they chose not to respond. They chose to stay with the known.
This process of a call, of a response, of a journey is repeated throughout Scripture. The Gospel for this morning is another example of the same thing. Jesus goes to be baptized, he hears a call, and leaves on a journey into the wilderness. Jesus descends into the water of the Jordan as a carpenter, and he comes out as a spiritual leader, one who goes out into the wilderness on a journey.
Traditionally, the church has read this story at the beginning of Lent. It holds this up as a picture of faith. Faith has never been about believing a set of doctrines or a bunch of teachings. Faith has always been about journeying – going into the wilderness – wrestling with the devil – and taking the risk of changing your narrative.
Good people, Lent has begun. The response is up to you.
Are you willing to take a journey? Remember, remember – you may be starting this journey as a citizen of Tucson. You may end a citizen of Heaven. AMEN.