Sermon, Sunday 9 August: 'Choose love'

Readings:

Ephesians 4:25-5:2 & John 6: 35, 41-51 

Sermon

Let’s pray:

May the words of my mouth, and the meditations 

of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, 

O Lord, our strength and our redeemer, Amen.

This morning, as we ponder words from Scripture, and, thinking particularly of our reading from Ephesians, a story...

which some of you may or may not have heard:

Once upon a time, there was a taxi driver. 

He lived in a big, noisy, overcrowded

and very dirty city.                                                               

It was an August night – late.                                  

Very late. 

2.30am.                                                

A call came in for a fare.                                    

As he drove, the cabbie began to wonder

who the fare was going to be:                        

perhaps he was off to pick up some young folk

heading across town to the next party;                                                               

maybe he was off to collect someone

headed for a flight to what might be

the holiday of a lifetime?                                                             

Perhaps the fare was a medic heading in to work for the early shift?

He’d met a whole host of folk in this job

and nights could be...interesting.                                  

At least his imagination kept him awake,

as he drove through the deserted,

litter-filled streets.                                                                  

As he neared the place where he was

supposed to collect his fare,                                

he saw the building was in darkness…                                

no, not quite all in darkness:                                                                      

there was a single, low light in

the ground floor window.                                                              

He honked the horn and waited.                   

Nothing.                                                            

After a few moments, he honked again.        

Nothing. 

Nobody.                                             

He wondered if it had been a prank call.    

Just as he was about to put his foot to the pedal and drive away,

something made him stop.

He turned off the engine,

got out of the cab,

and walked to the door.

The low buzz of the intercom echoed down

an inner hallway.                                                         

There was a sound of crackling and static …

and then a tinny, distant     weak voice

echoing down the line:
“Just a minute,”                                                 

He stood there in the semi-dark,

by the door     waiting,

and as he did, he heard the sound

of faltering footsteps

and what sounded like something

being dragged across the floor.                                    

After what seemed to be

the world’s longest pause,

the door opened, revealing a tiny, elderly woman.

He couldn’t quite work out just how old she was.

She was wearing a floral print dress

and a faded pillbox hat and veil.

‘Like someone out of one of those old, old movies’, he thought.

Faded elegance.                                                          

The woman was carrying a small, black suitcase.

A smell of dust and mothballs

hung heavy in the air and,

as he peered beyond her into the

dim light of the hall,

and into open doorways,

he saw the shapes of furniture draped in sheets,

emptied shelves,

bare walls with the faintest traces to show

where pictures had previously hung.

At the end of the hall, he noticed a cardboard box

filled, higgedly-piggedly, with photos, glassware,

assorted knick-knacks.

Her apartment looked as if

no one had lived in it for years.                              

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” 

The cabbie nodded, took the suitcase to the cab

and then returned for the woman.                        

She took an arm and they walked slowly

to the car.

She kept thanking him.

Feeling awkward, he said:                            

“I… just try to treat my passengers the

way I’d want my mum treated.”

Once settled, she gave an address then asked:

“Can you drive through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” the cabbie said.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said.

“I’m in no hurry.

Then, more quietly:

‘...I’m on my way    to a hospice.”

The cabbie looked in the rear-view mirror. 

The woman said:                                   

“I don’t have any family left.

The doctor says I don’t have very long.”        

                                                        

The cabbie quietly reached over

and shut off the meter. 

 “What route would you like me to take?”

He asked:                                         

For the next two hours they drove

through the city.

She showed him the building

where she’d once worked

as an elevator operator.

They drove through the neighbourhood

where she and her husband had lived

when they were newlyweds.                                              

She pointed to the huge old furniture warehouse:

that had once been a ballroom

where she’d gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes, she’d ask the cabbie to slow down,

in front of a particular building or corner,

and would sit staring into the darkness,

saying nothing.                                          

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said:

“I’m tired.

Let’s go now.”

They drove in silence to the hospice.             

Two orderlies came out to the cab

as soon as it pulled up.                                                                

They must have been expecting her.                

They opened the door and gently helped her.                                                                         

The cabbie got out, picked up her bag

and took it to the door.                                             

The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked,

reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,”
She objected. “You have to make a living.”
The cabbie shook his head:

“Ah, no worries, there’ll be other passengers,”
Almost without thinking, the cabbie bent and gave her a hug.

She held onto him tightly, moved by his kindness.                                                                   

“Thank you.”
Gently  he squeezed her hand,

then walked into the early morning light. 

A new day dawning.                             

Behind him, the snick of a door, shutting.                                      

The sound of the closing of a life.    

He didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift.

He drove aimlessly, lost in thought.                            

For the rest of the day,

there were no words,

lost as he was in reflection:                                                                 

What if that woman had been picked up by

an angry driver,

or one who was impatient to end his shift?                                                                 

What if he’d refused to take the call,

or had honked once, then driven away?

After mulling for some time

on what had happened,     

he decided that taking that call

had possibly been one of the

most important things he’d done in his life.

..................................

From our reading earlier,

in the letter to the Ephesians:

‘Be kind and compassionate to one another, 

forgiving each other, just as in Christ,

God forgave you.

Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children 

and live a life full of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us

as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God’

‘Be kind’.

The apostle, Paul, thought to be the

writer of Ephesians

is making a play on words here.                                                     

The Greek word for ‘kind’     

is Chrestoi.           

And …the Greek word for Christ      

is Christos.

Paul says, “Be Chrestoi to each other.”
On one level, he’s saying be kind to one another.

But at another level, he’s saying,

“Be Christ to one another.”                                   

“Be Chrestoi…

Christos…                            

Christ to each other.”

For what immediately follows this call to kindness

is a call to be imitators of God -

to live a life of love,

in the same way that Christ lived his life in love...

gave his life for the world -

gave his flesh...in love for the world.

‘Be imitators of God’...

The great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther

talked of Christians as being ‘little Christs’.

To follow Christ is to choose the way of love

and as we walk the way of love

we are nourished for the task

by the One who is the Bread of Life,

who strengthens us through the

Spirit of God already  at work within us,

enabling us to become more like Christ.

I’m not sure of the source,

but there used to be a question

doing the rounds that basically asked:

‘if you were on trial for being a Christian,

would there be enough evidence to convict you?’

What would that evidence be?

I suspect a very big part of that would be 

in choosing to live a life filled with loving-kindness and compassion;

sacrificial love

that looks out upon the world and sees

only neighbours,

not enemies;

love that forgives much,

love that follows the way of peace -

that puts away all bitterness, rage, anger,

brawling, slander, and malice.

As we follow Christ, the Bread of Life,               

let us be Christ to one another…                               

Let us be imitators of Christ…                                

And as we are,

we might just discover,

like the cab driver in our story,

those actions that really do matter in life...

And live in such a way that people

will see Christ in us,

and praise our Father in heaven… Amen.