"GETTING PERSONAL WITH GOD"

Isaiah 49:1-7; John 1:35-42; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9

This is one of those days

when the three lectionary readings

seem to have nothing to do with each other.

One is a prophecy about the suffering servant of God;

one is a call to ministry for two disciples-to-be;

and one is the loving introduction of a letter

to a church that's about to get walloped

for their infighting and bad behavior.

But all three of them -

even though Isaiah was writing about a servant

and John was writing about Andrew and Simon

and Paul was writing to the church inCorinth -

all three of these writings

are addressed to First Presbyterian Church of Bonham Texas.

They're written to you and me,

we who were called before we were born

to be God's servant;

we who have been invited by Jesus

to come and see his house;

we who in every way

have been enriched by Christ.

Whether or not it's with prophecy, gospel or epistle,

whether or not we are called by name,

whether we like it or not,

you and I are God's servants in this world,

full-fledged deputies of God's kingdom.

Some of us are better at it than others,

and some of us do more harm than good!

But none of us is excused.

In the moment that we were baptized as Christ's own forever,

we were set apart as God's servants in the world.

And the very fact that we are still hanging around here

means that we haven't resigned yet.

Whether we come to worship because we believe

or because we want to believe,

we know that God has the power to change our lives

at the drop of a hat,

just like it happened for Andrew and Simon.

And we know that people expect us to be different somehow,

strengthened in every spiritual gift,

just like it was for the church in Corinth.

And we fear

that it will mean times of suffering,

times when we feel that we have labored on God's behalf in vain,

just like it was for the servant in Isaiah.

Life is supposed to be different when you're a Christian.

People are supposed to be able to tell.

You know what I mean.

No more pulling in front of people at Target

or parking in spots reserved for the disabled.

No more tailgating or coasting through stop signs.

You have to let the other person go first,

and you'd better wash your car while you're at it,

so people won't think that Christians are slobs!

You get the idea.

You and I are God's people,

and God's people are called to be extraordinary:

extra thoughtful,

extra friendly,

extra involved.

So you are.

You do and do and do.

You volunteer, you join,

you serve, you listen,

you give.

You leave home early in the morning

and come home late at night.

You take on other people's problems,

you put them first,

you invite them into your home.

They try to take your coat,

and you give them your shirt as well.

You burn your candle at both ends,

discovering that the reward for a job well done

is not less work but more work,

none of which stays done.

You begin to wonder whether it is God you are serving,

or only your own ego.

You snap at somebody who doesn't deserve it,

and the bitterness you feel surprises you.

You start getting tired earlier and earlier in the day,

until finally one morning,

you cannot get out of bed at all.

"I have labored in vain," you say to the ceiling.

"I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity."

Don't you think that's how it was for Isaiah's servant?

He confessed his own failure to God,

and fully expected to be retired and replaced

by someone more equal to the task.

But that's not what that God of ours has in mind.

God  -

whose ideas of success and failure

have never coincided with our own -

has a better idea. 

"I will give you as a light to the nations," God says,

"that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth."

Now there's divine logic for you!

Fail at a large task,

and you're given a larger one.

Barely produce a spark in your own corner of the world,

and you are promoted to light the whole planet.

Either it's a great case of divine irony,

or God knows something we don't know -

namely,

that the success of God's servants

does not depend on those who are chosen,

but on the one who chooses them,

the Holy One of Israel,

the one who calls least likely candidates to be disciples,

the one who sees the good

even in a conflicted congregation like Corinth.

The only way we can truly fail, apparently,

is to remove ourselves from God's hands,

to let our own poor judgment

make us quit our relationship with the Chooser.

When our own ideas of success go bankrupt,

when our own notions of servanthood are exhausted,

only then

is there room for God

to give us a new vision of ourselves.

When the Servant admitted defeat,

God had some room to negotiate.

When the would-be disciples

didn't even know what they were looking for,

Jesus invited them to come and see.

This translation

may not be directly out of the New Revised Standard Version,

or even directly from the Hebrew.

But what if God said something like this to the Servant,

and to you and me:

"Stop doing a job - start being a light.

Stop doing your duty.

Start being mine.

Stop worrying

about whether or not you have done a good job.

Start leaving that up to me.

You can't see it the way I can.

You just let your light shine,

and let me take care of the rest."

What if?

What if the real test of our success as God's servants

is not what we do,

but how we do it?

What if the real measure of our Christian extraordinariness

is not our thoughtfulness

or our friendliness

or our busyness,

but our spark?

What if the real sign of our witness to the light

is not how much we accomplish,

but our own lightness,

our own reflection of the bright God

who has chosen us

and lit us up

and sent us into the world like candles in a dark room?

If that's the way it is,

then there's no such thing as laboring in vain.

The Holy One of Israel has chosen us,

has called us from our mother's wombs,

has named our names

and in cases like Simon's even changed them,

has put us together in families of birth,

and families of choice,

and families of worship,

has given us every spiritual gift

and strengthened us to the end -

in order to spread God's marvelous light

and share the good news with others.

It is not up to us

to decide whether we have succeeded or failed.

It is not up to us

to decide if we have labored in vain.

To spend our strength doing that

is to spend it on nothing and vanity,

while the call of God pulls at us

much more strenuously.

The call of God calls us to serve, of course.

But more than that,

the call of God requires us first and last

to stay as close as we know how

to the One who has chosen us,

to stay as close to the light as we can,

so that our witness to that One

is not a matter of performing tasks

or playing roles

or meeting expectations,

but of remaining in white hot relationship

with the one who is able to enlighten all of our days.

It's just a thought.

But if there is anything to it,

then it is too light a thing,

you servants of God,

that you should spend your strength doing your duty

when what you have been called to do

is to ignite,

enflame,

combust,

burn,

shine with the glory of the God who has chosen you,

and given you to the world,

bright lights to the end of the earth.

Amen.

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Many many thanks to Barbara Brown Taylor, the consummate wordsmith, and her fabulous sermon "Laboring in Vain," found in her collection of sermons called Gospel Medicine.