Rector's Sermon - Sunday, July 7, 2002

First Reading	Psalm	Epistle	Gospel
Genesis 24	148:8-15	Romans 7:21-8:6	Matthew 11:16-25-30

     The week of choir camp brought it all back again. Most of the campers were already swimming. It was a hot and perfect day to be in the lake. I went down to the shore, sat on the cement bulkhead and tested the water. It was cold! I remember years ago, sitting at the side of the school swimming pool. Most all of my classmates were in the water, but I was afraid to plunge into the deep. I knew all my swimming strokes and there was no reason to doubt that I could swim, but I didn't trust myself in water over my head. It was awful. Everyone around me having fun, urging me to jump in, and I just couldn't. Perhaps that is why even today, I never plunge into the water. Instead, I take my time, getting my feet wet first, dreading the first few seconds as the water goes above my waist, over my back and covers me completely. My first few minutes at any beach is like taking off a Band-Aid that is sticking to every possible hair on my arm. Finally I decided I was just too hot and everybody else looked so refreshed, so I held my breath, clenched up and in I went! Needless to say the water was great!

     Some people plunge into the water without apparent hesitation. I imagine Rebecca was such a person. She was both perceptive and self-assured, qualities that contributed to her being a gracious and wise host to strangers. It was small wonder that Abraham's servant saw her as a wife for Isaac, and a worthy successor to the legacy of the brave and strong-willed Sarah. At the same time it was clear that for Rebecca this was not a decision made on impulse. She knew that marrying into a different tribe would hold challenges she couldn't anticipate. She could never control all the variables of her life, but somehow she knew God was calling her.

     Now, I want to put in a good word for those us who are the gradual waders and testers of the water. The call of God is just as strong for us. For however we respond, there will always be questions and unknown variables, and very likely no perfect time. When God calls us into the water there are plenty of reasons to hold back. We may have different questions and concerns than Rebecca's, but ours will, nevertheless, be paramount for us. Both waders and plungers know that the water will never be just right, that whatever excuse we come up with, if we want to swim and enjoy the water, at some moment we make the decision to get in.

     Previously I've mentioned a large framed postcard on the wall near my desk of a photograph taken perpendicular to the end of the train platforms of Albany's Union Station. Three trains of the New York Central: the Chicagoan from Chicago, The Henrick Hudson, bound for New York, and an unidentified mail and express are alongside The Delaware and Hudson Railroad's Laurentian from Montreal. The photographer was there at the right time. Four passenger trains, all facing the same direction, on adjoining platforms was not a common occurrence in most stations, even in the heyday of train travel. Probably one of them was running late; perhaps another was a few minutes early, but for that moment , the proud engines of competing railroads (three in the elite passenger colors of two tone gray with lightning stripes of white, and one in blue and silver separated by a bright V of yellow) stood idling with headlights on, ready to respond as soon as the conductors shouted all aboard and the engineers moved their throttles. Ten minutes earlier or ten minutes later, the photographer might have missed it.

     The gathering of Jesus' disciples appears in the Bible so quickly and decisively. I wonder if the Gospel writers have not telescoped things to convey a sense of that the good news itself inevitably brings things into focus, though sometimes we don't see it quite that way at the time. When the gifts of God are offered to us there comes an opportunity to respond. Jesus doesn't wait to enter into some sort of artificial or controlled environment when everything is perfect and in order. Even in the middle of mending nets, with hands covered with fish goo, Peter, Andrew, James, and John heard themselves called. I can only imagine how inconvenient, how strong the pull to resist and what a sharp dilemma it must have been for Mary and Martha and the rest of the woman who bravely followed Jesus. No doubt they were encouraged by the stories of their ancestors Sarah and Rebecca.

     That is the reason, I suppose, the postcard on my wall seems to always haunt me when I'm reminded of God's continual call. A closer look at the photograph reveals large areas of rust on one engine's nose emblem, and peeling paint hanging from the roof rafters of the platforms. The station needed major repair and the engines were wearing out. Things weren't all right with the world. In actuality, the once mighty New York Central had merged with the equally ailing Pennsylvania and ceased to exist a few months before. Everything pictured was one last trip away from exhaustion or collapse. The photo was taken in April 1968. Union Station would close forever the following December and the train platforms would be torn down to make way for a new arterial highway. Later the station would be remodeled into a bank. Nonetheless, the picture freezes for me a decisive moment change could not destroy.

     That's how God calls us - not necessarily when the future of our lives is bright and clear, not when the air or water is the perfect temperature and the pool or lake is at our preferred depth, but at the appropriate time and place nonetheless. Among our anxiety for success and fear of failure, as we make our lists, run our errands, and when our engines seem to be failing, God's call finds its way to us. Sometimes, it is years later as we recall a moment we have stored away in our minds of a long vanished scene, that we really recognize that it indeed was the time to get into the water and swim.
    
     And I offer this to you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.