June 21, 2009
1 Samuel 17: 1a, 4-11, 19-23, 32-40
Mark 4: 35-41
Matthew 11: 28-30
"Just As He Was"
For weeks the crowds hounded Jesus. Things became so bad Jesus could hardly find time to eat. He was hemmed in and pressed down by the people who clamored for another miracle, another spectacular moment.
Jesus was exhausted. He carried the weight of the crowd's rising expectations, the disappointment in the disciple's inability to understand him, and the draining weariness of daily confrontations with the leaders of his own people.
This is the Jesus who told his disciples to get into the boat and head across the lake. Not towards some restful beach, but into the heart of pagan territory, into the heart of the Roman forces of occupation. Not for a peaceful crossing, but into the heart of a storm so violent that his disciples, expert seamen, would soon be terrified.
This is the Jesus who fell asleep as soon as he climbed into the boat. The Jesus who when awakened confronted the storm just as he confronted the crowds, the leaders, and the Romans: everyone and everything the world could throw at him.
You know this story, but have you ever noticed this one line: "they took him with them, just as he was." The disciples took Jesus into the boat just as he was: exhausted, tired, sleepy, and in need of peace. Just as he was: No special weapons, no armor to face the challenges that waited, no high or low-tech instruments. Jesus got into the boat just as he was: An exhausted man with nothing but his absolute faith in his Father.
Just as he was: Exhausted and full of faith. Fully human and the Son of God. A man of peace and one who moved freely with his Father into every confrontation the world could throw at him. Just as he was Jesus climbed into the boat, fell asleep and awoke to speak directly into the face of the storm: "Peace. Be still." Just as he was with God was enough.
Just as he was the boy David went to take food to his older brothers serving in King Saul's army. David knew himself, he knew the way to the army, and he knew God in the way a child knows God.
David came to the camp and saw his brothers, saw King Saul and his army terrified. For forty days they had cowered in the shadow of the giant Philistine, Goliath. Forty days of humiliation and fear is what young David saw.
Confronted with this spectacle of cringing fear, David spoke of what he knew. He knew God. He knew that when a bear or a lion attacked the sheep, it was God who protected David and the flock.
In his child like way, David made an amazing statement of faith in the presence of Goliath: "God protected me against the bear and the lion, so God will protect me from Goliath". Because God was with me then, God will be with me now.
But the older men who knew the world, who knew the weight of the world and its delight in witnessing fear and failure, these men knew that David's simple belief was not enough. So, in one of the Bible's greatest scenes, the men dressed the boy in armor suitable to face a giant, armor thick enough to cover up the weakness that haunts all of us.
A bronze helmet, a coat of mail, and the enormous sword of King Saul were placed on the boy. And then he tried to walk but the burden was too great, the weight was too much. David cannot move. So David removed the armor and then just as he was, he bent down and selected five smooth stones provided by God. David needed only one.
David needed only God. David needed only the faith that told him if God was with him once, God would be with him again. The world's insistence that David had to match armor with armor, sword with sword, size with size was immobilizing foolishness to David. David went into battle just as he was. David went into battle with God.
My father Tom Moore was a big man. He was about 6'3' and 230 at his prime. He was a great athlete at the University of Iowa. He worked his way to the top of his profession at the Chicago Tribune when its claim to be the "World's Greatest Newspaper" was on solid ground.
Dad was an enormous presence in my life and in the lives of my two sisters and my brother. But in many ways he was absent. The Tribune was a morning paper and so Dad went to work about 1:00 p.m. and he came around midnight depending on the news. For years he had Tuesday and Wednesday off. This meant we would go days, often weeks without really seeing him.
Our regular contact was the suppertime ritual of Dad calling from downtown. If you had a good day, you would try to be at the front of the line in the hallway where the phone was. If you had a bad day, it was best to hang towards the back just in case work would call Dad away before you had to talk to him. Dad was a voice from downtown. He called and one special occasion sent telegrams. I remember he settled a "who get the last piece of lemon pie" dispute with a telegram.
My brother and I did fine. We always felt close to Dad because of our love of sports and I guess because we were boys.
But I know my sisters had a hard time, particularly my older sister Carol. She fought the battles; she pushed the limits for us all. She brought dating and Elvis into the house and she confronted Dad over and over again.
For years, Carol and Dad were not close. There was a distance between them, a wall between them built over the years by absence and confrontation. Then my mother died suddenly and there were Dad and Carol living a few blocks apart. The rest of us kids were scattered and of little help.
As Dad aged Carol more and more became his primary care giver. But it was not pleasant. It was very hard. Carol did her duty, but the wall remained.
I do not pretend to know how it happened, but it did. As Dad aged, at some point Dad let Carol into his life. He opened up and invited Carol into his heart. And she responded and came in. The great blessing for Dad and my sister was that Dad lived to be almost 93 and they had time to learn to love each other. And as they learned to love, I believe we all came to love Dad in a way we never knew possible.
Dad did so much in his life. He was such a big man, such a rock, and a man of such enormous strength. But on this Father's Day what I am the most thankful for is that at some point, Dad opened up to be loved. He came to my sister just as he was: an old man who needed to be loved and who realized his daughter would love him.
Perhaps all those years of strength and distance, of being the voice on the phone, perhaps all of that was just too much. Perhaps Dad, in his own unreligious way, came to know the truth that these burdens we carry are far too heavy, that there is another One who will take them on if only we open ourselves to be loved just as we are. It is the lesson of David and all that armor, the lesson of an exhausted Jesus getting into the boat with God.
I believe Dad came to know that just as he was was all we needed to love.
"Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11: 28-30)
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