It was so well planned that it was destined to fall flat. For my first mission trip here at Swarthmore, nineteen of us went to New Orleans to help rebuild that city in the wake of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. For a week, I imagined, we would be laboring hard by day, working with families to empty their flooded houses and take them down to stud, “to pluck up and pull down,” if you will, so they could be rebuild and start over. Each afternoon, we would be relaxing – playing cards, eating dinner and exploring the city. And then each night, we would have devotions resulting in fruitful, daring conversations about God and tragedy, faith and service, and the calling of the Christian life, all based on that fabulous prophetic book, Jeremiah. Or so, in my naïveté, I thought. Now, the work went well, and the relaxing went even better. But the conversations at the end of our long, hot July days turned out not to be the bold, life-changing tête-à-têtes I had envisioned. That had mostly to do with my experience and skills in leading a discussion, judging a crowd and setting a bedtime. In the end, we had done some good processing of the dramatic experiences we were having. But it turns out that Jeremiah, this fabulous prophetic book, was not the instant catalyst to spiritual renewal and faith development that I had thought. Our youth were good that week to tolerate me and to tolerate so very much of Jeremiah.
Perhaps this time will be better. Because there is something irresistible to me about this passage. As someone who cares especially about God’s children 18 years old and under, I am drawn to this story of God calling a young person like Jeremiah to big and important ministry in the service of his Maker. This is one of the particularly outstanding youth ministry passages in the Bible – right up there with the call of Samuel and Jesus in the Temple at age 12. This is the kind of passage that youth ministry types like me can make summer trip t-shirts with, advocate for youth deacons with and plan mission trip devotions around. In fact, at Montreat, the summer youth conference our high schoolers participate in, the special program for youth to be involved in onstage leadership is called the Jeremiah Project. More on that in a moment.
So, putting me together with the call of Jeremiah at the end of the summer will, not surprisingly, result in a youth ministry sermon, full of stories about youth conferences, mission trips and teenagers. But it will be more than that – I hope. For true preaching is not about the words or stories used, but about the movement of the Holy Spirit in the hearts and minds of those worshipping the Triune God. That’s God’s doing, not mine. That’s why we pray for the Spirit to illuminate the text – and us – for without God’s presence among us, the words of my sermon and the words on Jeremiah’s page are just words, not God’s Word. So let us hope that our prayer has been answered and that God moves in the hearts of those of us who have celebrated our eighteenth birthdays as well as those who haven’t yet. And now back to the Jeremiah Project…
If you had told me a month ago that Colin Munson, our beloved Colin, all long limbs and floppy hair, would be dancing onstage in front of hundreds of people – people he would have to live among following the dance – I would have laughed and wondered if you didn’t have him confused with someone else. If you don’t know Colin, let me introduce you. He’s sixteen years old, and like so many of our rising juniors, he’s gotten really tall really quickly. He is a sweet, thoughtful guy. He’s not the kind of guy who’s in every show, or any show, at the Player’s Club or Hedgerow Theater. And when I mentioned the Jeremiah Project, with its promise of acting, public speaking and even public dancing, I didn’t expect Colin to be one of the ones who wanted to know more. But he did. And after some soul searching, he signed up for it. And there he was Tuesday morning, in front of 600 people, dancing and acting. And again on Wednesday, doing liturgical dance to a pop song I’m pretty sure he didn’t like to begin with. And then again on Thursday, speaking his lines and acting the part. I was amazed. I still am. For I thought he was only a boy.
Do not say, “I am only a boy”; for you shall go to all to whom I send you. … See, today I appoint you over hundreds and hundreds, to dance and to act, to lead worship and to proclaim God’s Word in ways that words alone cannot.
If you had asked Hannah Donoghue, our beloved Hannah, the week before she went to Appalachia to work on people’s homes, she would have told you the thing she was most nervous about was the bugs. She doesn’t love bugs. Most fifteen-year-olds don’t love bugs. I don’t love bugs. And bugs usually hang out in the mud, so she doesn’t love mud. And if you had asked her what else she was nervous about – and she had known that “operating power tools” was a possible answer – I bet she might have said “operating power tools” as well, because she hadn’t used them before. So on the first day of work in Summers County, West Virginia, Hannah was none too happy to get to the residence of our homeowner – Bobby Benton – and learn that the first task would be removing the years of debris that ringed the edge of his trailer, only to be followed by digging huge holes under the trailer that would eventually hold its new concrete supports. But there she was on Monday morning with everyone else, as it started raining, clearing debris, and as it continued raining, lying on her stomach in the mud, surrounded by bugs, digging on behalf of a gentleman whom she’d just met. By Monday afternoon, our crew was cutting rebar – long metal reinforcing bars – into shorter lengths to give extra integrity to the concrete foundations. We – and by that I mean competent adults like Jeff Darlin – were cutting them with a handheld circular saw with a metal grinding blade. The process sends showers of sparks everywhere, including onto the one doing the cutting. Well, by Tuesday morning, Hannah was eying that grinder, and not just because she was tired of the mud. She asked to use the tool – with adult supervision – and there she was, on Tuesday, covered in mud from head to toe, sparks flying around her and onto her, intently sawing through length after length of three-quarter-inch-thick rebar. I was impressed, for I thought she was only a girl.
Do not say, “I am only a girl”; for you shall go to all to whom I send you. … See, today I appoint you over bugs, mud and power tools, to dig and to grind, to make Bobby’s home safer and to fight poverty in a far away West Virginia valley.
I don’t know Gail Zarick very well. I know she is one of the adult leaders of Pleasantville Presbyterian Church, in Pleasantville, New York, which was with us in Summers County on Appalachia Service Project. Gail is a good leader – and Pleasantville is a good church – to spend the week with. She mentioned they’ve been doing ASP for 11 years now. My crew shared Bobby’s house with one of their crews, and we worked around each other well. It was a bit of a crazy week, however, because Bobby had just come under care of ASP. There was a lot that he needed, in part because he takes care of his brother, David, who has Polio as well as some developmental disabilities. You see, Bobby’s place doesn’t have running water – just a pump 100 feet down the hill. When David needs to go to the bathroom, Bobby has to carry him outside by himself. Bobby really needs running water, and the ASP staff was determined to get him some, at the cost of $6,400. When Thursday of the week came, the staff found out that ASP headquarters just couldn’t fund the water. They told us that morning. Without blinking, Gail offered $1,000 on behalf of Pleasantville. And that offer gave me the courage to do the same, which comes from the funds that our stockholders, many of you, have given us. So thank you. Just last week I got a thank you card from the ASP staff in Summers County, letting us all know that the water now runs inside of Bobby and David’s home. I don’t know that much about Pleasantville Pres. I looked them up on the web, and they have a quarter of our membership. I do know, however, that no one plans for well drilling donations when church budgets are developed. I thought they were only a church.
Do not say, “I am only a church”; for you shall go to all to whom I send you. … See, today I appoint you over water and wells, to pay and to donate, to ease the burden of the poor and to uplift those who are their brother’s keeper.
Do not say that I am only a boy, only a girl, only a church, says our God. It’s the same thing Jesus says to the leader of the synagogue when he heals the woman on the Sabbath: Do not say that it is the Sabbath. Put away the excuses and the things that get between you and doing God’s work. Let’s not hide behind the limited ways we see ourselves. The fears we all have – normal everyday fears of being a leader or of dancing, of the yucky and the hard stuff, of not meeting the budget or having enough, of doing something wrong – “Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord.” (v. 8)
No fear, no matter how rational, is a match for the power of God. I can’t lead people, we say. Look what I did with Moses and Esther, God says. It’s yucky, we say. You’ll be fine, God says; wear your dirt as a badge of honor. We might not have enough, we say. I am the Great Provider, God says; all blessings flow from me. We have to follow the rules, we say. I make the rules, God says. Our fears are real and scary, we say. That may be so, God says, but they are so much smaller than who you are and than who I created you to be.
Friends, each and every one of us is made in God’s image as a girl, a boy, together as the church. Individually and collectively, we have been created for great and good work, for when we were in the womb God knew us, God consecrated us and God appointed us for important tasks in God’s service. As fall – and all that it brings with it – comes sneaking around the corner, let us take joy in the appointments God has given us to keep. See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to dance and to act, to dig and to grind, to pay and to donate, to remove the excuses and to become who we are created to be. Amen.