Journey to the Self

Sermon for August 20, 2006

Heather Jo McVoy

Oakhurst Baptist Church

! Kings 2: 10-12; 3:3-14

John 6:51-58

When Lanny asked me if I would be willing to preach today and suggested a pilgrimage theme, to tie with the theme of the retreat, I readily agreed. I’ve been thinking and meditating a lot on the experience, after all. Then, because I generally like to wrestle with the lectionary to keep me honest, I decided to look at the texts. Lanny’s response was that he didn’t really see any connection, and after my first reading of the texts, I was strongly inclined to agree. But then, the texts began to sing subtly to me, as they often do. So I went on an inner journey with them, and I’d like to invite you along.

We have been following David’s story for the past few weeks, and our text from 1 Kings carries it into the next generation. His son Solomon is now the king. David, flawed as he was, has been a mighty warrior and a mighty king. Tough act to follow. We are told that Solomon “showed his love for the Lord by walking according to the statutes of father David, except that he offered sacrifices and burned incense on the high places. The king went to Gibeon to offer sacrifices, for that was the most important high place.”

Well now, there’s an interesting bit right there. He followed the ways of his father except for offering sacrifices and burning incense on the high places. That’s a pretty big “except”—the high places were the places of Baal, the pagan God of the land and of fertility. There was a lot of pressure on the ancient kings of Israel to worship Baal. Israel was an agrarian society, and depended entirely on the good will of the powers of earth, sky and water for survival. Baal had been around a long time, and was seen as the guardian of the land and of these powers. Pleasing Baal was the way to agricultural success. Baal was an earthy god, and those who were close to the earth related to him. Additionally, when one wanted to worship, there was a place to go to meet the god—the high places, which would have had an upright rock at which to worship. Yahweh was everywhere and nowhere—even in Jerusalem, one could not reach out and touch, or even look on the powerful one who had covenanted with the people.

But one could climb the high places and meet god face to face, offering sacrifices and burning incense in tribute, hoping for the goodwill of the lord of earth and sky. So Solomon, too, went up to Gibeon to honor Baal. Perhaps he felt he lacked the kind of direct relationship with God his father had had. Perhaps he wanted to show the people he cared about their concerns, and was not a remote and isolated king. Whatever his reasons, he went up.

He made a pilgrimage to a high place to encounter God. Because after all is said and done, a pilgrimage at its heart and essence is a journey undertaken with the purpose of seeking something more than just sensation. This is at the core of the difference between pilgrimage and touring as described by Phil Cousineau in his book, The Art of Pilgrimage. When we travel for enjoyment or curiosity or experience as our primary goal, our attention is directed to the things we see and do. We pay attention to the differences between the new external sensations—sight, touch, smell, taste, sound—from what we are used to. On a pilgrimage, we will certainly encounter different sensations, but the focus is on the interior response, and what we seek is something deeper than the sensations alone.

“’The point of a pilgrimage,’ as a Buddhist priest told the traveling author, Oliver Statler on his journey around the Japanese island of Shikoku, ‘is to improve yourself by enduring and overcoming difficulties.’” (From Cousineau)

For me, the experience of Fes was one of enduring and overcoming difficulties. The day started off difficult—we were to be at Bab Bou Jaloud (a gate) at 10 a.m. to start our tour of the medina. But we had been up very late the night before, seeing the house and getting to know the family, and, at any rate, it’s hard to get 7 females ready very quickly with 1 bathroom to share. So, we left the house after 10 (I’m not very good at being late, so my anxieties were in place at that), and race-walked up to the gate. And I do mean UP. The house we stayed in was essentially at the other end of the medina from the gate, and the way was uphill every step. Steeply. Up hill. Ah, well, we were there, if a bit winded and flustered (just speaking for myself). Then the tour began, and it was fascinating. AND—the streets in Fes—the big ones—are maybe 12 feet wide, at least when the shops are open. The little streets are maybe about 8 feet wide. There is, of course, no vehicular traffic, but there are carts and donkeys—lots and lots of donkeys. And when a cart or a donkey comes by, pedestrians are expected to get out of the way—on several occasions, that meant just flattening oneself against the wall—nowhere else to go. And of course, there are tourists/pilgrims (though not really as many as I expected) and the citizens who live there, going about their business. Am I painting a good picture of really, really crowded? Streets come to a T intersection at times, or little streets just branch off, or the “big” street takes a jog, with two little streets going in different directions. And our group began to get more and more strung out, hampered by shoppers, donkeys, carts and just lots of people, from keeping up with the leaders. I had been near the front, but was beginning to get concerned about how strung out we were and began to hold back a little. At that point, the guide took a right and then an immediate left—I saw where he and the group around him had gone, but could not see him. Meanwhile, a large part of our group was out of sight and couldn’t have known which way to go at that intersection. And I couldn’t tell if the lead part of the group had gone straight or taken another turn where I couldn’t see. All of a sudden I was really afraid.

I was not afraid of any of the people around me. But I was afraid. I came face to face with my fear. Fear doesn’t look or act pretty on me. I screamed for one of the youth just disappearing around the corner, and when he didn’t respond immediately, yelled again. Ick. I did not like myself in those moments. At that moment, my pilgrimage had brought me to an ugly place inside myself.

Did Solomon have any such difficulties? Perhaps. He went up to Gibeon to offer sacrifices and burn incense to Baal, and what happened? He encountered Yahweh. God appears to him in a dream while he’s at Gibeon after offering many sacrifices there. Oddly enough, God doesn’t seem upset with Solomon for sacrificing to another god, despite the ten commandments rhetoric. God simply tells Solomon to ask for whatever he wants God to give him. Wow. And what does Solomon ask for? Wisdom. Just that, wisdom. And that, God is happy to grant, along with wealth and honor.

Wisdom. What a great thing to ask for, when one meets God. Solomon wanted wisdom for ruling the people. We need wisdom for living our lives and being citizens in a difficult world. Solomon went up to a high place, met God and obtained wisdom. Did I? Did I meet God? Did I obtain wisdom?

I met God, most assuredly. More than once, in fact. But what comes to mind now is meeting God not long after my moment of panic. We had had lunch at a beautiful restaurant, with a variety of wonderful Moroccan food. Casey and I wandered out the door a little ahead of the rest of the group, who were being entertained by one of the restaurant staff. We were in a “little” street, and two working men were sharing a cantaloupe in a little doorway. Immediately upon seeing us, they cut two slices of the melon and insisted on sharing them with Casey and me.  We were full, that was their lunch, we tried to say no, politely. But one thing was universal in Morocco—the impulse to hospitality. It would have been beyond rude to refuse. I remember the sweetness of the melon, the smiles on their faces and the comfortable feeling standing next to Casey, having this moment. And I knew that through this simple act of sacred hospitality, these men were showing me the face of God.

Wherever I go, there I am. And wherever I go, there God is, also. Even if I am worshipping Baal, God is in that high place, too. Even if I am in the depths of fear, anger, or despair, God is there. Ultimately, any journey of the soul will lead to both the self and to God, and from that meeting comes wisdom.

One does not have to go so far as Morocco to undertake a pilgrimage. One does not even need to “go” anywhere. We are each on a journey, and that journey will, indeed, lead us to face ourselves and to meet God, even if we do not move far outside our daily routines. I would encourage each of you, though, to consider making a deliberate decision to “step outside” the normal paths of your life. Take some time—a day, a week, maybe just an hour—to go somewhere that has meaning for you and is not associated with work, school, shopping, entertainment or mere curiosity. Walk along a creek. Go to a cemetery. Visit the house you grew up in. Experience Andersonville. Serve a meal to the homeless. Walk for AIDS, breast cancer, or any other cause that moves you. And as you go, go intending to meet both God and yourself along the way.

From that meeting comes life, as well. Going out, going forward, climbing up, taking one step—or twelve—, delving inward, facing our demons, wrestling with our pain, walking through the valley—all of these action verbs come from and bring life, when undertaken in the spirit of seeking. But one more verb is needed, even though it does not seem like an action verb. That word is receiving. We may seek and search and hunt and strive and struggle and grasp and cling and climb—but there is no gift in it if we are not ready to receive. If we have not received the gift in the struggle, we have not overcome the difficulty of the journey. The life and light are there, but can only bring joy when they are received. It IS an action verb. It is a kind of doing, to receive. I needed to receive forgiveness—God’s for my lack of trust, the youth’s for letting my panic turn into yelling. Recognizing our need to receive—whether it be forgiveness, strength through a dark and difficult period, energy to remain faithful to a difficult task, healing, food, help, shelter—is basic to confronting our true selves and coming closer to God. God wants to give, if we are only ready to receive.

Being ready to receive means, as Henri Nouwen said, coming to God with open hands, not clinging to our little hoard of fears and beliefs about what can and cannot happen. God’s gifts are abundance beyond our small imaginings.

God poured out the gifts of wisdom, wealth and honor to Solomon, who received them with gratitude, and gave a feast for all his court. How closely food is tied with God’s love. Simple sharing of food, like the melon in Fes. Feasts in honor of God, a person or occasion. Bringing food to those who are sick or grieving. Buying a homeless person a sandwich. Sharing food is sharing life, in the most basic ways.

And, in communion with one another and with God, it is more. Jesus said, “I am the bread of life.” “I am the living bread that came down from heaven.” “This bread is my flesh, which I give for the life of the world.” This bread is for the life of the world. This world so needs to take in life. Surrounded by wars, global warming, terrorist threats, famines, AIDS, and on and on, we are as lost as a frightened woman in the streets of Fes. Where shall we go to find peace?  Where can we find the wisdom to live a faithful life? Where shall we go to find God? We shall go on a personal pilgrimage, long or short, walking in ways both familiar and unfamiliar, with our hearts set on meeting God. We shall make our way to a church on East Lake in Atlanta. We shall come here, to the community of the beloved, to the table spread before us.

And as we travel on our way through the hot, crowded, dusty streets, we also thirst. To be somewhere where water does not just flow from a tap (or if it does, it is not good for us to drink) is to understand thirst better than ever before. When water must be found, carried and rationed even when the need for it is greater than we normally perceive it, we understand thirst on a deeper level. We truly do need water to survive. Similarly, we need living water to saturate our thirsty souls. We thirst for knowledge, for wisdom, for justice, for time just to be at rest and know that God is with us. Where can we find the drink to slake such a thirst? Jesus said, “my blood is real drink.” When our own personal wells are dry, Jesus gives us the drink that brings eternal life.

We need food and drink for the journey, and God has prepared a table before us, with the bread of life and the real drink that are Christ’s body and blood. We do this in remembrance of him, we do it in community with one another, we do this so that we can experience directly, with our bodies, that God is with us and in us. God is the source and author of all hospitality. In the wilderness, hospitality is a matter of life or death for the wandering stranger. We are in the wilderness of anxiety and fear caused by events around us that appear far beyond our control and threaten to swallow us, body and soul. And God’s sacred hospitality is there to feed us, comfort us and build our strength to continue the journey.

Come to the table. Taste and see that God is good. Savor the food that is good for the body and know that this food sustains not just for a moment, not just for a few steps along the way, but forever. Whoever drinks of this cup and eats this bread will have eternal life and never die. Where will your journey take you? To the high places, where God may have many faces? Or will your journey lead through the valley of the shadow, where one’s self may become lost and God’s face seem impossibly far? Wherever your journey leads, know that you are sustained by the very life and body of Christ, and you can never be abandoned in the wilderness. In this sacramental meal, God welcomes us home, wherever we are.

Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

God, we come to you this day with open hands, ready to receive your blessing.  We have come here by many paths, and the roads we walk are often wearisome. We need your guiding hand and your loving arms to help us along the way.

God, we ask you to be with those who are suffering from illness. Grant to each your healing and your peace, and hold them close so that they will know your love is near. Give their families patience and courage, and surround them with your love, as well. Help them celebrate each victory and give them the strength to abide with any setbacks along the way.

Be with those who mourn, and give them peace and the hope that in you, no loss is ever final. Walk with them in the dark days, dear God. Be with our sister Elaine as she faces an abrupt change in her career situation. Give her hope and energy as she seeks a new path for her life.

And God, we ask for your peace in our world. We thank you for a lessening of fighting in Lebanon, and ask for your peace and justice to come down like waters on the entire region, so that your people can live together in harmony. Be with all of those around the world who continue to suffer from oppression, hunger, thirst, disease, poverty and injustice. Make us instruments of your peace and teach us to love justice and walk humbly in the ways you direct. Take us out of our comfort zones help us be instruments of the coming of your rule of peace and justice on this tired earth. Help us be true stewards of your gifts, and help us care for the earth and all who live on it. There is much healing to be done, God, and we ask you to teach us what we need to know.

Be with each of us, with those of our community on retreat this weekend, and with all those we love, wherever they may be. Guide and protect us throughout the week ahead.

Amen