A
couple of weeks ago my daughter Fiona turned seven years old. To celebrate the big day Fiona asked that
Martha, Miriam and me join her on our couch and flip through the photo albums
that chronicled her life starting with photos of ultrasounds; pictures of
Martha’s pregnant belly; a picture of Fiona all bundled up on Martha’s chest,
one minute after entering the world; and then we looked at pictures of Fiona
throughout the years. As we looked
through the pictures the girls began asking Martha questions about giving birth
and how it felt. After Martha’s
description of pregnancy and childbirth with all its joys and pain, both Miriam
and Fiona unanimously agreed that neither of them will ever get married nor
pregnant, much to the relief of me, their father.
As
we shared this conversation together my mind flashed back to the birthing
classes that we attended during both of Martha’s pregnancies. I remembered those Saturday morning
gatherings with other expectant parents all eager to learn what to expect
during the labor and delivery stage of the pregnancy. The nurse told all the soon-to-be-fathers
that we had a vital role on the day of the delivery; we were to be “the
birthing coach.” That title “the birthing coach” was given to us as a badge of
honor so we too could feel important. We
learned how to assist our spouses dealing with the hours of labor; we learned
the proper technique of breathing, with blowing in and out in rhythm to ease
pain [BREATH].
On
the mornings of Miriam and Fiona’s births I remember taking my birthing coach
role very seriously. Standing by Martha’s side I held her hand while she drove her
fingernails deep into my flesh with each contraction. I never stopped whispering
words of encouragement, applying cold compresses with my free hand, and
thanking God that I was not the one giving birth. Finally, I remember that moment when new life
emerged from the darkness of Martha’s womb into the light of this world.
In
between these two stages of labor and giving birth, is a middle stage that I
haven’t yet mentioned; it is the process called transition. And a mother can’t get from labor to delivery
without it. Our midwife Kris at
Northside Hospital jokingly told us when we were expecting Miriam, that,
“transition is that moment when the soon to be mother decides she really didn’t
want to have a baby after all and would prefer to return to the way things
were.” In transition there is often the
strong physical and mental desire to keep the baby safely in the place where it
has been for nine months, yet there is an equally irresistible urge to push the
baby out. Transition in the birth process is that scary time when two equally
powerful forces meet: the desire to keep things as they are, and the pull
toward new birth that changes everything.
I don’t
usually think of today’s scripture texts from 2 Kings and Mark’s gospel as part
of a birth process. But that is indeed what
they are: transitional moments for a faith journey calling God’s people into a new
being, into new life.
In
the Old Testament story of Elijah and Elisha, we hear the anguish of the
prophets as the mantle of leadership is passed. We see the faithfulness of
Elisha who would like to believe that his master is not leaving. Knowing that
the journey from
During
that long journey both Elijah and Elisha were “in transition.” Even with God in
charge and the sure knowledge of what was to come before them, the journey was
neither easy nor self-evident. The
desire for the old to remain, the hesitation of taking on the new role was not
without question or angst, but it was a time for the new to be born.
I
am sure that at one time or another, each one of us in our own lives has had an
overwhelming desire to remain the same.
To remain the same when as a high school senior the decision needs to be
made regarding which college or university to attend. To remain the same when a new job offer or transfer
is received that will uproot a family from the comfort of a familiar
neighborhood and school, play group and church, circle of friends and
colleagues. To remain the same when a
decision needs to be made by us or for us, to move out of a home we have lived
in for 45 years or more and move into a retirement community or nursing
home. All of these are examples of
moments of transition in our lives when we are called upon to move forward but
hesitate because fear and a desire for life to remain the same grabs hold of
us.
Fear
and a desire to remain the same can also happen in our lives as people of
faith. Take for example, Anne Lamott,
the author of such books as Bird by Bird, Operating Instructions
and Grace (Eventually). Lamott tells
a wonderful story of her conversion, in her book Traveling Mercies. She had to face the crossroads of transition when
she felt touched by the presence of God and found herself caught between the
overwhelming desire to remain the same and the desire to open up her heart and
let the light of Christ bathe her.
Lamott writes, “I got in bed....I had a cigarette and turned off the
light. After a while, as I lay there….I
became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner….The feeling was
so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one
was there, of course, there wasn’t. But
after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond any doubt that it was
Jesus....I felt him just sitting there on his haunches….watching me with patience
and love, and I squinched my eyes shut, but that didn’t help because that’s not
what I was seeing him with.
Finally
I fell asleep, and in the morning, he was gone.
This experience spooked me badly....But then everywhere I
went, I had the feeling that a little cat was following me, wanting me to reach
down and pick it up, wanting me to open the door and let it in. But I knew what would happen: you let a cat
in one time, give it a little milk, and then it stays forever. So I tried to keep one step ahead of it.
And one week later, when I went back to church (I listened
closely to the last hymn) a song (that) was so deep and raw and pure....It was
as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the
same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its
bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to the feeling, and it
washed over me.
I began to cry and left before the benediction, and I raced
home and felt the little cat running along at my heels. (When I reached my home) I took a long deep
breath and said out loud, “All right.
You can come in.”[1]
For Anne Lamott her conversion experience was much like the
transition in the birthing process, it was a scary time with two equally
powerful forces meeting: the desire to keep things the same and the pull toward
new birth that changes everything.
The
text from Mark’s gospel offers us yet another story of reluctant transition.
Peter, James, and John are on
In
both these texts, the powerful voices of old are not denied or negated but
passed on to new leaders, new work, and most especially to new ways of being in
relationship with God. Elisha, even with a double dose of Elijah’s spirit,
grieves the absence of his mentor. The disciples on the mountain with Jesus are
terrified. Yet in both cases, they move on to say yes to God’s call to leadership
among the people of God.
Today,
we too are called to go through moments of transition and to say yes to God’s
call of leadership. At the 11:15 worship
service I will stand at the communion table in front of the congregation and be
formally installed as your Associate Pastor of Care Ministry. This is a moment of transition in my ministry
with you and in Christ’s church. I have
to admit that there have been moments when I have wished that events could have
remained the same. I miss my colleague
and friend Trisha Senterfitt who moved on with some reluctance to serve the
people living in the
Our
church today has many moments of transition that we face and the call for
leadership has been heard. One only
needs to look at the exterior of the church or around the hallways and
classrooms spaces to see that changes are being born in and through our
renovations. But I remember not to long
ago when staff and church members wished that things could have remained the
same so we could avoid all the inconveniences with parking, dropping children
off for preschool, and navigating our ways around the seemingly miles of
hallways to get to this sanctuary or Sunday school classes.
We
have a group of people in worship this morning who have heard God’s call to
lead and care for the sheep of God’s flock.
They are our Stephen Ministers. This
morning you will find in your worship bulletin a booklet recognizing the
members of our church who have been commissioned as Stephen Ministers over a
span of 27 years. At this time I would
like to ask anyone who has served as a Stephen Minister to stand up so we can
recognize and thank you for your service.
[Clap]
These
men and women heard God’s call in the form of an invitation by a pastor or
fellow Stephen Minister. They heard God’s
call as gentle as a butterfly’s kiss or as loud as a voice that once spoke from
the clouds: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” These Stephen Ministers experienced transition,
a transition between two equally powerful forces: the desire to keep things as they were to
recognize the importance of the ministry of Stephen Ministers to walk beside
others during emotional, physical and spiritual crisis, but letting others
actually do the ministry; and the desire to step out in faith and become
involved with the Stephen Ministry program that enables new birth to occur in
relationships, in listening to the needs of another and sharing a word of
prayer and encouragement.
If
you have been wrestling with a nagging desire to learn more about
Friends,
every day change occurs, change that comes as a welcomed relief, change that
comes and overwhelms us. As we hear the
stories of Elijah and Elisha, of Jesus and his disciples on Mount Tabor, and of
Anne Lamott and her conversion, we add our own stories of change and
transition, and we become aware that the desire to remain the same and the pull
toward new birth that changes everything are both powerful forces.
This
morning it is no coincidence that we encounter in the middle of Mark’s gospel a
story of transition in the Transfiguration.
Prior to Jesus’ mountain climb with his disciples he has been preaching
the good news of the Kingdom of God; healing the sick, giving relief to the
poor, setting the captives free; and proclaiming the year of God's favor, Jubilee. The story of the Transfiguration is the
transition point when Jesus begins to turn his attention toward the city on a
hill, Jerusalem, knowing fully well that the Sadducees and Pharisees are
plotting his death and the cross lies just beyond the horizon.
As
Easter people we know that difficult times lie ahead for Jesus. He will enter the gates of