Sermon thoughts on Running with Endurance, the 5th Sunday after Epiphany
Scripture Readings
Isaiah 40:21–31
Psalm 147:1–11
1 Corinthians 9:16–27
Mark 1:29–39
Yet another Sunday at home, and I am continuing to pray for
health and wisdom. Part of our time away
from church has been just not feeling well and needing another day of
rest. Part of our time away has been
spiritual discomfort with how we were being fed, accompanied by a paralysis
toward finding another church—a paralysis inspired by cynicism, social
exhaustion (finding a new church is hard—meeting new people (especially since
churches are not always welcoming to strangers!), uncertainty that anything
better out there exists, and also simple laziness. So here I am again, preaching to myself.
It’s the 5th Sunday after Epiphany, for those
paying attention to the traditional church year. Five Sundays have passed since the celebration
of the arrival of the Magi to worship the newborn King. Has it really only been 5 weeks since the end
of the 12 Days of Christmas? Five Sundays
since we put away the tree, the Nativity, and swept away the last of the pine
needles, crumpled ornament hooks and the burnt out tree light bulbs. The newness of the Christmas presents has
faded; the new clothes are stained, the new games have missing pieces already,
the new books have been read and put back on the shelf. It’s the first Sunday
in February; the longest-shortest month of the year, in my opinion. Puxatawny Phil has seen his shadow, declaring
another 6 weeks of winter (for those of you stuck living outside of sunny
California, that is). For me, it has
meant some extraordinarily long days at work dealing with “normal” operations
as well as unusual training situations, contingency planning, and a rash of
staff illnesses with associated call-ins.
The “buzz” of Christmas has long faded; the exhaustingly boring pace of
the rest of year is well underway.
It is in this context that we find our scripture readings,
starting with Isaiah 40. Our reading
begins with verse 21, but the chapter begins with a Christmas reading—“comfort,
comfort my people”, a prophecy about the salvation brought by our newborn King. So it is fitting that we read the chapter
now, in the doldrums of February: verse
21 starts a long section which describes the power and authority of our
God: He created the world and rules it;
He has authority over earthly rulers and all natural elements; He “will not
grow tired or weary.” The chapter ends with verses 30 and 31: “Even youths grow tired and weary, the young
men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their
strength. They will soar on wings like
eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”
This theme is repeated in Psalm 147. We are reminded of God’s power for His people,
His authority over the created world—He numbers and names the stars, He puts
clouds in the sky and sends rain to the earth—and His limitless
understanding. But the psalmist declares
that God does not rejoice in created strength, not that of horses or of people—God
rejoices in those who love, fear and trust in Him. Psalm 147: 10 and 11 says “His pleasure is
not in the strength of the horse, nor His delight in the legs of a man; the
Lord delights in those who fear Him, who put their hope in His unfailing love.”
The phrase “legs of a man” in Psalm 147 brings us to Paul’s
analogy of a runner in 1 Corinthians 9: 24 and following. Paul tells his readers that they should run
like athletes competing for an Olympic medal—to start with rigorous, focused
training and to run with aggression, to run with the intent to win.
But here we are in February, and “run[ning] in such a way as
to get the prize” sounds exhausting and cold and dreary and overwhelming and
just-too-much. As I sit here typing, I’m
listening to (and engaging in) rapid-fire conversation that is harmless family
banter, but banter that is a hair too close to impatient sniping—everyone seems
tired and edgy. There are piles of
laundry lining my hallway; half of us are still in pajamas at noon; all of us
are sniffly. It is Sunday, and we all
wish we had just one more day of rest before beginning the week. No one in my house seems energized for “running
in such a way as to get the prize.”
Fortunately, that energy does not come from us. Isaiah 40 tells us that it is “those who hope
in the Lord” who are renewed and strengthened.
Our gospel reading does more than tell us, it shows us where that energy
comes from. In his typical brusque and
unflowery prose, Mark tells us that Jesus spent all day healing people and
casting out demons; an entire town flocked to Jesus to have their needs met by
his power (Mark 1: 29-34). While Mark
doesn’t say so, we can infer that Jesus—who was indeed both God and Man—was exhausted. In Mark 1: 35, we are told that “Very early
in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went
off to a solitary place, where He prayed.”
I am struck with a pang of guilt
here: Jesus was tired, but He didn’t
sleep in. Jesus was tired and He chose
to intentionally get up early to pray.
He made connecting with God His priority, the solution to His
exhaustion. Jesus’ mission was the
salvation of the world by His sacrificial death; He was certainly running “in
such a way as to get the prize”. His strategy
during that race, His training regimen, was to “hope in the Lord” for renewal
and strength.
Our life on earth will be difficult and exhausting. We will be physically exhausted—sick, tired,
sleep deprived, overworked, stressed out.
We will also be spiritually exhausted—frustrated by our own lack of
faith, plagued by guilt or feelings of inadequacy, cynical about the earthly
church and failures of fellow Christians.
Jesus’ example reminds us to cling to God for His strength. He told His disciples to “remain in” Him in
John 15 where He expressed His final desires for them before His
crucifixion. In Mark 1, He showed His
disciples and us how He chose to remain in His heavenly Father. And after His time of solitude and prayer,
His time of renewal, He was “back in the race”—back preaching and teaching and
healing, saying “this is why I have come.”
We are running a race here on earth, and exhaustion, stress
and sickness will be part of that race.
Fortunately, we are not running alone nor are we running under our own
power—we have access to the God of the Universe, the One who sends the rain
clouds is the same One who “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
As Jesus did, we can come to our God in prayer to be renewed and healed. We can trust that the God who sent His Son to
die for our sins will not fail to meet all of our needs, to renew us for this
race on earth and bless us daily until we are united with Him eternally.
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