Going the Distance
Sermon by James W. Crawford
For Lael Murphy's Installation
November 15, 1998
Jesus heads toward Jerusalem. He sees violent conflict ahead. He knows his own life hangs in the balance. Grievances aimed at him, rumors surrounding him, fears of him lacing the religious and political establishments constitute a combustible mixture foreboding a social explosion whose bloody consequences he senses as inevitable.
And on the way to Jerusalem, Luke tells us, Jesus attracts large and curious crowds. He draws attention. There is an air of celebrity about it all. Jesus makes headlines.
Why? What lures these crowds? Does Jesus entertain them? Does he soften them up with one-liners about hanky-panky in Herod's palace? Does he offer some feel-good nostrums, or promise a precursor for a twenty-first century cinema box-office smash? No way! Jesus hurls tough challenges. He waves yellow flags. He plays hardball with discipleship. If you really want to come with me, he warns, ready yourself for some rough treatment. If you commit yourself to the Gospel, brace yourself for painful choices, prepare yourself for a long haul, steel yourself to go the distance. Then he tells two little parables:
"When you make your commitment to follow me," he insists, "be sure you're not like that man who planned to build himself a massive tower, laid the foundation, found he couldn't finish and became the laughing stock of the region. When you consecrate your life to the Gospel," Jesus says, "you'd better assess your resources accurately. You want to avoid the stupidity of the king who declared war, found his forces deficient, and surrendered under his enemy's terms before firing a shot. "Discipleship," says Jesus on his way to the Cross, "Discipleship has a way of putting us into messy, threatening, high risk situations. Are you ready? Are you equipped to go the distance?
Well, are we? Luke is not simply narrating a decisive incident in our Lord's life. He aims his question at us. Jesus looks at us -- at us: this inquisitive, interested, warm and friendly gathering of church people nestled in our pews this November Sunday morning -- and what does he see? Does he see disciples here who count the cost? In this cynical and suffering world, does he see disciples prepared with him for traveling the distance, to join him not for a 50-yard dash and then petering out, but for a grueling marathon to the bitter end? Or does our discipleship resemble that of a failed tower-builder, or a king blind to the true costs of battle? I wonder.
The other day I ran across a piece of polemic written way back in 1922 by John Haynes Holmes, one of the giant liberal religious figures of the early part of this century. And I wonder if he does not speak to our decade, too. Holmes writes, "There was a time when religion was in the churches. It was the time when men and women were willing to die for altars at which they worshipped and the creeds in which they believed. Who thinks it worth while, however, to lay down their life for the churches today? Who would go to the gibbet, or the stake, or the cross, 'stop the mouths of lions, be stoned, sawn asunder, slain with the sword, wander about in sheepskins and goatskins, . . . in deserts and in mountains, in dens and caves of the earth,' for the sake of Presbyterianism, Episcopalianism, Methodism, (we might say today Congregationalism or the United Church of Christ or even Christianity)? Holmes continues: "How change so lightly from one church to another, or abandon churches altogether, if such loyalties really matter? It is not that we have forgotten how to die or to be loyal. The call of country summoned us in the Great War to sacrifices which it is inconceivable that we might have made for any church." Holmes believes the grit and challenge of a high and ethical religious pursuit disappeared long ago from our churches like water from a reservoir, that our lives, rather than focused on discipleship, its challenges and opportunities, dissipate into rivulets of a hundred distractions and self indulgent courses.
To be sure, those of us in the echelons of the churches are not immune to the corruption of Christianity and the smoothing of its edges, if not the pursuit of devious and even fraudulent priorities. Since we referenced John Haynes Holmes in 1922, let me reference Harry Emerson Fosdick, of the same vintage, who tells of David Lloyd George, Britain's Prime Minister during World War I, driving one day through North Wales discussing denominational differences. "The church I belong to," said Lloyd George, "The church I belong to is torn with fierce dispute. One section says that baptism is in the name of the Father, and the other says it is into the name of the Father. I belong to one of these parties. I feel most strongly about it, I would die for it in fact -- but I forget which it is."
Indeed! And what is Jesus getting at in his two little parables? Is he not warning us against trivial pursuits, featherbrained commitments, attention deficit discipleship? As one looks out on our world this morning, we can see a desperate need for serious, high risk, marathon, distance, gutsy discipleship. Even as we contemplate the dangers of discipleship Jesus warns us about, so we see the terrible risk and dangers of a world living without the Gospel; a world struggling to survive, as John XXIII said, "without love as motive and justice as instrument." We see a pork-laden federal budget casting the major needs of our cities aside. We see, even as we say our prayers and sing our hymns this very morning, we see so-called "weapons of mass destruction," thank heaven, taking an anxious intermission in their dance of death, the principals claiming a close escape this time but sensing as well another charged confrontation between church-going nations and a Mosque-going nation -- the goal of peace, or at least tolerance, pervading the core ethic of each religious tradition. My soul! Jesus is right! In that parable of the king's miscalculated campaign he insists that the costs of failing the Gospel, of going into battle without the necessary logistical resources and reinforcements, surrendering, then, on the enemy's terms, leads to untold human catastrophe and suffering. And in these parables Jesus makes clear that though the risks of following him may be treacherous and challenging, the risks of not following him are far greater. "When you calculate the costs of discipleship," he says, "when you wish the discipleship race could be measured in yards rather than in multiples of miles, don't fail to consider accurately the disaster lurking in a world without the love, peace, joy and justice of God. The cost there can far outstrip the cost and risk of discipleship.
"Do you really want to be my disciples?" our Lord asks. "Are you ready? Are you prepared for a long haul? Can you go the distance?"
Today we install a new minister amid our congregation. What a high privilege for us and for the Metropolitan Boston Association. Lael Murphy comes to us with all kinds of appropriate credentials: Her education is first class; her voluntary and community experience in churches, hospitals, food pantries and prisons is exemplary; her work in a variety of private and public agencies makes her a superb candidate for ministry, for leadership and service in this church. In a testimony of faith she composed for the Metropolitan Boston Association last spring, Lael described her eagerness to participate in mission with church men and women in the following way: "With our eyes on the Cross and our hearts united by the Spirit, I believe God calls us to find the most creative ways to bring the love of Christ to a broken world."
Right on Lael! We believe that too. But best of all -- Oh sister, best of all -- we pray we will with you -- we know you will with us -- go the distance!
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