Sermon, Sun 18 Feb:Wk3 Ps23 - 'He guides me in paths of righteousness...'

READINGS: Ps 23 and John 1-21

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer, Amen.

‘He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’

Way back in the day, people who were particularly serious about following God’s paths of righteousness would take themselves off, away from all temptation, to the desert –
or, at least, as far away from human civilisation as they could travel.
Over time, others would travel out into the wild, deserted places, searching for these holy men and women – and settle near by them, hoping to learn about God through their example.
Whole communities would spring up – convents and monasteries –
in awkward, truly difficult places to get to.
Some of these you’ll see in Greece, in a place called Meteora, where the monasteries are
perched precariously on top of near-vertical outcrops of rock.
The way to get to these monasteries often involves being hauled up by a large basket
attached to ropes...
And so the story goes that one day, a young man, wanting to better understand God and
better follow, travelled to such a monastery.
He journeyed for many days, through barren desert places.
The stones bruised his feet, while the sand crept between his toes eventually causing blisters.
Often he was parched with thirst, unsure of when he might next find water.
Still he continued – keen to get to the monastery.
Occasionally, there would be an oasis, where he would eat his fill
of dates and bread, and slake his thirst.
But he never stayed overlong:
he was determined to get to the monastery and begin to walk in the ways of righteousness.

The great day came when he found himself at the foot of a great rocky outcrop,
where the monastery sat, perched far above.
A sign on the rock, by a rope, instructed him to pull it.
This he did.
A little later, he heard sounds from above, and saw a wicker basket descending, suspended by ropes.
Inside the basket was an elderly monk.
As he looked beyond the basket, he could see several monks at the top, working at lowering it.
When it arrived, he stepped in, and greeted the monk, who silently nodded, t
hen tugged on one of the ropes.
Slowly, the basket began its perilous ascent as the monks above guided it on its way.
It was terrifying.
Higher and higher he climbed up the steep cliff in the basket.
He thought, as it swayed in the wind, just how flimsy it seemed and he began to grow a little twitchy.
The monk beside him, however, was a study in serenity, and merely said:
‘Do not let your heart be troubled, my son.’
Still the basket ascended.
The young man looked down and realised that he was a long way up.
He clutched the side of the basket a little more tightly.
The monk remained calm, and placidly repeated:
‘Do not let your heart be troubled, my son.’
It was a little unnerving.
Growing ever more twitchy, the young man then began to eye up the ropes that held the basket.
They seemed very old, and very frayed.
Feeling a little frayed around the edges himself, his nerves completely shot,
he addressed the elderly monk:
‘How often do you change the rope?’
The monk raised an eyebrow, thought a wee while, and replied calmly:
...‘Whenever it breaks.’
While keen to walk in the ways of righteousness, I suspect there were other motivating factors
for his eagerness to get to the monastery in those last few minutes.

‘He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’
As a basic rule of thumb, in many churches around the world on the first Sunday of Lent,
you’re generally guaranteed to hear a reading on Jesus, journeying into the wilderness
to prepare for his public ministry,
and, where he’s faced with temptation to walk away from the path of righteousness.
But we’re doing something a little different this year, and so, we find instead Jesus
a little further on in the story – he’s come back from the wilderness, and begun his ministry;
a ministry that involves journeying around the countryside,
and journeying alongside others as they try to work out how to walk along the path of righteousness.

In our gospel reading from John, we find an odd assortment of folk who have decided
to go on a journey.
Each one, at a point in their life where they have an urge to want to get to know God better –
to understand God,
to follow in God’s ways...
to find in God meaning for their own lives.
It’s time to explore, time to go on an inner journey.
And into their lives, at this particular point,
comes Jesus, who calls them from the comfort zone
of where they are,
and where they’re known,
and leads them on paths both outward and inward:
dusty ones,
often crowded ones - with folk eager to get a glimpse of the rabbi...
paths where at times, they’re confused,
and at times, they’re elated,
and at times, they feel as if they’re in a flimsy basket suspended in the air,
held aloft only by some very dodgy looking ropes.
But wherever they go, they are guided by One they have begun to
learn to trust, even though they don’t fully understand him.

As they follow, there are times when they want to keep him to themselves:
so many others want a piece of him:
will he have enough energy left for the ones he’s called and gathered?
As they follow, there are times when they realise that he’s making enemies of those in power:
if he doesn’t play the game, will he survive long enough for the disciples
to learn all they can from him?
As they follow...
they grow increasingly twitchy.
Will this whole show come crashing down?
As they follow,
they find themselves in the great city of Jerusalem –
the city of power and privilege and possible danger.
They fear for his life.
They probably fear for their own.
Whispers of plots insinuate themselves into fabric of the disciples’ souls, and they begin to
lose sight of the One who is leading them,
lose sight of the path,
lose sight of their purpose.
What’s scarier, is that Jesus is talking of walking a little ahead of them – is he leaving them?
Yes.
But he says he’s coming back.
But will he?
How will they find the path, the way, without Jesus?
The ropes are fraying in their basket...
And into their anxiety, Jesus speaks words of comfort:
‘Let not your hearts be troubled.’
But they’re still troubled.
Thomas, who’s always got a question or two to throw into the mix, voices their concern:
‘We don’t know where you’re going. How can we know the way?’
They still have much to learn, even though they’ve been with him for three years.
‘I am the Way...
and the truth...
and the life.’
To know Jesus is to know the way.
To know Jesus is to walk in the paths of righteousness.
To know Jesus is to know the Father,
for to see Jesus is to see the Father...
and to follow Jesus is to find yourself walking along the pathway to God the Father.
Jesus’ whole existence embodies the Father –
his whole existence is a demonstration of righteousness lived out.

There’s that old, old song:
‘To know, know, know you, is to love, love, love you’
Jesus is basically saying to his friends, his followers:
‘to see me, is to see the Father’
And then he talks of love.
‘If you love me, you will obey my command.’
Jesus, when questioned elsewhere about following in God’s way sums up the
commandments into one great command – to love:
to love God,
and to love your neighbour, as you love yourself.
In essence, to be led in the paths of righteousness is to be led into a life lived in love.
Righteousness isn’t about having the moral high ground –
that’s what the Pharisees and the Teacher of the Law were seemingly falling into the trap of doing.
Righteousness isn’t about ‘I’m right, you’re wrong.’
Righteousness *is* about what happens when turn your face to God
and see that the path you’re being led upon is the very expression of love in word and in action.

Apparently, yesterday was ‘International Random Acts of Kindness Day.’
To be led in paths of righteousness is less about random acts of kindness,
and more about practising intentional acts of kindness.
To be led in paths of righteousness will take us to some places well out of our comfort zone:
but where love is, there God is also -
the God, who is our Shepherd;
the God who supplies our needs,
who restores our souls,
who leads us to the way of love
and who lives within us through the Spirit of love,
nudging us ever forward –
to clear out the clutter that puts obstacles on the path to righteousness and to God;
the Spirit of love,
encouraging us to speak love into the places where it is absent:
in the cut and thrust of political debate, or in neighbourly disputes.
The path of righteousness takes us into places where
we find ourselves speaking truth to power –
when those in positions of power misuse their position to keep others down
because of race, of creed, of ...any kind of perceived difference –
for the path of righteousness involves God’s justice and compassion;
it’s about raising up the downtrodden and downcast;
it’s about holding out a hand and welcoming the stranger;
it’s about feeding the hungry,
clothing the naked,
believing, and caring for, the victim,
and, in fact, anything that seeks to live out and share God’s love in this world –
for the journey of faith only works when love is at the centre –
for God is love, and we are his people:
we love, for God loved us first,
and in his great love,
he gave us Jesus,
who showed us the way,
for he is the Way –
to the path where righteousness is lived in the midst of every-day life.

On this first Sunday in the season of Lent,
we make time once again to accept God’s invitation of love, and, to love.
It’s an invitation to travel on the path of righteousness, the path of love.
Perhaps over Lent, you might choose to give something up, or take something on –
give up those words, those actions, that aren’t loving...
that take you away from walking on the paths of righteousness?
Perhaps you may choose to take on love:
what’s one thing each day you could do, or say, that would demonstrate love –
whether random or intentional?

The great preacher, Willian Sloane Coffin once said that:
"If we fail in love, we fail in all things else."
As we are led on paths of righteousness, we are held in God’s love:
suspended mid-way between heaven and earth,
living in the now and the not yet of God’s kingdom of heaven.
Sometimes, the rope feels frayed,
and we become afraid...
but unlike the ropes holding up that flimsy monastery basket in the story earlier,
do not let your hearts be troubled,
for God’s love never breaks.