When Can We Go Back, Daddy?

November 1, 2009

Today is a special day in the Christian year.

No, it’s not the, “How can we get rid of some of this candy so our kids won’t be bouncing off the walls for the next year.”

Rather, it’s “All Saints Day.” It’s when we honor our ancestors in the faith who’ve help ground and direct us in the faith.

One of our earliest ancestors is Joshua.

Joshua was the leader of the Israelites after Moses died. He led them in the conquest of the Promised Land. They’ve conquered some of the nations that were there, but there are other conquests to be done. In the Scripture you’re about to hear, Joshua is near the point of death. He’s giving the Israelites a long, encouraging speech. The passage you hear today contains the essence of it:

Joshua 24:1-2, 14-18

Then Joshua gathered all the tribes of Israel to Shechem, and summoned the elders, the heads, the judges, and the officers of Israel; and they presented themselves before God. And Joshua said to all the people…

"Now therefore revere the LORD, and serve him in sincerity and in faithfulness; put away the gods that your ancestors served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the LORD. Now if you are unwilling to serve the LORD, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served in the region beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD."

Then the people answered, "Far be it from us that we should forsake the LORD to serve other gods; for it is the LORD our God who brought us and our ancestors up from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, and who did those great signs in our sight. He protected us along all the way that we went, and among all the peoples through whom we passed; 18 and the LORD drove out before us all the peoples, the Amorites who lived in the land. Therefore we also will serve the LORD, for he is our God."

During my break after Christmas, usually on New Year’s Eve, my son and I take a day trip back “home.” We travel down 55, then 67, to Poplar Bluff, about 2 ½ hours from here.

Once there, we go to the sacred shrines.

There’s the farm I grew up on—and I tell him tales of fishing and hunting.

There’s Old Mark Twain and New Mark Twain schools I went to—and I tell him tales of why I would occasionally get paddled by the teachers [before that was outlawed].

There’s 1^st Methodist Church, where I first heard the fascinating words of Jesus, and accepted a call to the ministry.

There’s Hayden’s BBQ, where you could get the “world’s best BBQ” and a pink lemonade. Then you could go to the Cow Shed, where you could get a grape milk shake, also known as a “purple cow.”

There’s Memorial Gardens cemetery, where my mom, dad, and step-mom are buried.

Such are the sacred shrines.

One year, we skipped doing this. And out of the blue, Cam said, “When can we go back, Daddy?”

He missed it—seeing the places that were linked to the stories I told him.

There’s something powerful about “going back” to sacred places. It’s almost like simply being there makes the events and feelings associated with them come alive.

That’s what the people felt in today’s passage.

It’s often overlooked that Joshua made sure that the place of his famous speech was Shechem. That place already had holy, powerful significance to the Israelites. It was where God appeared to Abraham. Where Jacob dug a holy well. Later, it would be associated with David and Jesus.

And now Joshua, with the people already feeling the “power of the place,” adds to the significance: “You will inhabit this land. CHOOSE YOU THIS DAY THE ONE YOU WILL SERVE. As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord!”

How the place enhanced the power of the words. The people were moved to say, “We WILL serve the Lord. We WILL serve the Lord.”

For centuries to come, whenever Israel faced a crisis, I can’t help but believe that people would flock to Shechem. Standing on the sacred ground, they would remember Joshua’s unflinching courage and faith. They would imagine his strong, determined face, and the confidence in his voice. And they would be inspired to do the right thing themselves, regardless of the consequences.

We all need such sacred places, don’t we? We all need Shechems.

If I were to ask you where is your sacred place, from where you draw courage, how would you answer?

You might answer, “A classroom.” It’s where that special teacher helped you believe in yourself, or opened up a new world before your eyes.

Or you might answer, “A sanctuary.” It’s where you encountered Jesus in a real, personal way.

Your Shechem could be a special vacation spot. It’s a place where you reconnected with your family, and the beauty of the people you lived with opened up as you saw the beauty all around you.

Your Shechem might be a battlefield. It’s where you saw combat, and remember acts of bravery and compassioned unparalleled anywhere else.

It could be a hospital room. That’s where you held the hand of a loved one as he or she slipped into another world, and you beheld the mystery of that moment.

Yes, for each of us there are sacred places, Shechems, where you can tap insight and strength.

As Christians, we share sacred places. Going to those places ground us, and make us remember what’s ultimately important.

We could go to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

There we could recall what happened on August 28, 1963. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., focused like a magnifying glass the light and heat of racial justice and equality. His “I Have a Dream” speech gave focus and direction to the civil rights movement. Standing on those steps, you can still hear him say, “Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice…I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood….I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Stand on the steps of the monument, and you can still hear the words, and feel his dream.

As Christians, we could go to Aldersgate Street in London. John Wesley, who would become the founder of Methodism, was attending a church service on May 24, 1738. He recorded in his journal,

About a quarter before nine, while the leader was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.

You stand where Wesley stood, and you feel Christ become alive. He’s not a storybook character, and church isn’t a place to perpetuate a fable. On Aldersgate Street Wesley discovered that Jesus changes lives. He knew then and there that the church must be about connecting people to this Jesus, not imprisoning itself behind cold creed and ritual.

As Christians, we could go to the German city of Worms.

It was there, in April, 1521, that Martin Luther was put on trial. He was ordered to take back some of the things he’d been teaching. If he didn’t, he could be convicted of heresy and sentenced to a painful death. After much deliberation he said,

"Unless I am convicted by scripture and plain reason - I do not accept the authority of the popes and councils, for they have contradicted each other - my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and I will not recant anything for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. God help me. Amen."

Thus started the Protestant Reformation. Go to Worms, stand where Luther stood, and you feel the power of his conviction—and you’re challenged to match him as you stand up for what you believe—in school, at the office, wherever.

As Christians, we could go to a place near Jerusalem. An upstairs room.

The most amazing man who ever lived has invited his closest friends to a meal—even though he knows one of them will betray him.

As the shadows fall across the walls, he speaks. His words are emblazoned on their hearts.

“Greater love has no one than this—that he lay down his life for his friends…

“This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, poured out for you. Eat and drink—and remember me.”

When he said, “Remember me,” it was like a cue for his friends. If they had a camera, they were to have taken a picture of that moment. Because from then on—no matter where they went—whenever they took bread and wine, they were back in that upstairs room. They felt the floor under them. They saw the darkening shadows. They looked into the soft eyes of the Master. They felt once again his presence, power, and grace.

The bread and cup had the power to transport them over miles and through time to that very special, sacred place.

You may never visit the Lincoln Memorial. Or Aldersgate Street. Or Worms.

But today, right here and now, you can visit the upstairs room.

Kneel. Taste. Drink.

And like those first disciples. And like Dr. King. And like John Wesley. And like Martin Luther. You will have the courage to say, “As for me and my house, we WILL serve the Lord!”