"Did you see that fellow that passed just now? I wonder what is wrong with him?" said George.

"He's had some brain damage in an accident, and it affects part of his body. He's really a nice fellow. I see him in church every Sunday," said Jim.

"If seeing him in church makes him a nice fellow," said George, "there must be damage to another part of my brain."

"What I meant," answered Jim, "is that's how I got to know him quite well, and thus he explained to me about his handicap. When you understand him, then you see past the physical difficulty. And frankly, George, since you brought the subject up, going to church would do a lot for your brain and your attitude toward others."

It is true that different parts of our body are directed by different parts of our brain, having different functions to control. It is true, also, that "man cannot live by bread alone." If we fill our mind with evil thoughts, we have committed our lives to enmity with God and enmity with our selves. We are all our own worst enemy, doing things to ourselves that others cannot or would not do. We should be our own best friends in doing what is right.

If we treat our enemies with Christian understanding, our friends would be the most blessed of all.

Jesus said, "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he."

Somehow, seeing people in church not only associates them with thoughts of kindness, but, also, we make contact with their personality when we are in the best frame of mind to give proper understanding.

Karl Barth was lecturing to a group of students at Princeton. One student asked the German theologian "Sir, don't you think that God has revealed himself in other religions and not only in Christianity?" Barth's answer stunned the crowd. With a modest thunder he answered, "No, God has not revealed himself in any religion, including Christianity. He has revealed himself in his Son."

James Moore remembers the time when he was seven years old and got lost at the Ringling Brothers Circus. It was a frightening experience for a seven-year-old boy in a crowd of over twenty thousand. Jim and his older brother, Bob, went to the concession stand to buy some cotton candy. People were pushing and pressing toward the counter. Since Bob was taller he was waited on first. After Bob got his cotton candy he stepped aside for his brother. Just then loud laughter came from the arena. Bob wanted to see what was going on. Certainly he didn't mean to leave his small brother alone. He simply got caught up in the excitement listening to the crowd laugh at the clowns.

Little Jim also got his cotton candy and then he looked around for his big brother. His brother was gone. In that moment of panic nothing looked familiar to this little fellow. He was lost. At that point he wondered if he would ever see his family again. "I started to run," he recalls, "trying to fight back the tears. Everyone was laughing loudly at the antics of the clowns, but they weren't funny to me at that moment." In this young boy's moment of panic and confusion he thought, "How can they laugh at a time like this? How can they laugh when I feel so lost?"

Just then Jim felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned around and saw his father. "My father had come after me and had found me. He held me down, reassured me, then bought me a Coke, a hot dog, a Yo-Yo, a lizard, a little stuffed bear, and a candy apple. I learned a valuable lesson that day: Being lost is terrible...being found is wonderful!"

Jesus wanted his disciples to know that even though he would no longer be with them he would not let them get lost. He would be with them every step of the way. He is the Way. All they had to do was follow. Who would not respond to such a sacrifice? Who would not follow such an example?

Mickey Rivers, a one time outfielder for the Texas Rangers, explained his philosophy of life: Ain't no sense worrying about things you got control over, because if you got control over them, ain't no sense worrying. And their ain't no sense worrying about things you got NO control over either, because if you got no control over them, ain't no sense worrying.

There is a story about Abraham Lincoln who was arguing with a political opponent.

"How many legs does a cow have?" he asked his adversary.

"Four, of course," came the disgusted reply.

"That's right," agreed Lincoln. "Now suppose you call the cow's tail a leg; how many legs would the cow have?

"Why, five, of course," was the confidant reply.

"Now, that's where you're wrong," said Lincoln. "Calling a cow's tail a leg doesn't make it a leg."

A Christian who understands his own religion laughs when unbelievers expect to trouble him by the assertion that Jesus uttered no command which had not been anticipated by the Rabbis—few, indeed, which cannot be paralleled in classical ancient Egyptian, Ninevite, Babylonian, or Chinese texts. We have long recognized that truth with rejoicing.

On her travels to the Far East, Margaret Bottome learned 3 Vital Lessons in Faith & Following. There came a guide to her group and said to them, "Will you be good enough to give everything to me? I will take care of everything." So they gave him their luggage, but kept their small handbags. The guide spoke, "You must give everything to me." They protested that there were things that were vital to them for their trip, but the guide simply said, "They will be far safer with me, and you will be far safer without them." After a while, they were waiting at the train station when a train pulled up. They hurriedly selected a car to board, entered the train, and found their seats. Shortly, the guide came and said, "Will you be good enough to get off of the train?" They did as the guide had requested, and then they asked him why he wanted them to get off of the train. He replied, "The is the Wrong Train. Will you be so kind as to not go before me, but come after me?" In the course of the next few days, on a long train journey, they were wondering what provisions would be made for them when they arrived to their destination. One stranger told them that there was no place to accommodate them where they were heading. During this time, their guide remained quiet, not offering any word. However, when they arrived, they found that everything had been arranged for them. They guide quietly said to them, "Perhaps you will trust me to prepare for you ahead in the future."

A woman was diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. As she was getting her things in order, she contacted her pastor and asked him to come to her house to discuss some of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at her funeral service, what Scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. She requested to be buried with her favorite Bible.

As the pastor prepared to leave, the woman suddenly remembered something else. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" said the pastor.

"This is important," the woman said. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The pastor stood looking at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. The woman explained. "In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part of the meal because I knew something better was coming—like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie.

"So, when people see me in that casket with a fork in my hand and they ask, 'What's with the fork?' I want you to tell them: 'Keep your fork. The best is yet to come!'"

The year was 1275 BC, before Christ.  The land was Egypt. The ruler was Pharaoh. The leader of the Jews was Moses. The Jews had been in slavery for four hundred years to the Egyptians, building their cities and pyramids. But God had sent the plagues, and now the Jewish nation was beginning their exodus from slavery.  And at this particular moment, they were stopped by a body of water, the Red Sea, and the Egyptian chariots and horses were rapidly coming to attack and bring death and extinction.  It seemed there was no way out and then a miracle.  Suddenly, before them, the Red Sea opened up and there was only one way. Only one way out. Only one way to avoid death and extinction and that was through the Red Sea.

That paradigm, that visual image of only one way out of death and extinction is deeply woven into the theology of the Old Testament and New Testament. I still can clearly see a picture poster from a Bible Series that I used to teach of a high piece of land on the left, a deep chasm in the middle and a high piece of land on the right. The high piece of land on the left represented Earth; the high piece on the right represented Heaven; and then there was a bridge in the form of a cross that went from Earth to Heaven.  It was only on the cross of Christ that we moved from Earth to Eternity.  It was the only way. It is the only way.

There is a story told of a dying man who asked his Christian doctor to tell him something about the place to which he was going. As the doctor fumbled for a reply, he heard a scratching at the door, and he had his answer.

"Do you hear that?" he asked his patient. "It's my dog. I left him downstairs, but he has grown impatient, and has come up and hears my voice. He has no notion what is inside this door, but he knows that I am here. Isn't it the same with you? You don't know what lies beyond the Door, but you know that your Master is there."

The author Bill Bryson, tells of going to Hannibal, Missouri, to visit the boyhood home of Mark Twain. Mark Twain was one of his heroes. As he visited the home, he was disappointed. The home was supposed to be a faithful reproduction of the original, but it was easy to see that it was not. Far too many items from the 20th century were included in the home. In a sense it was false advertising. Mr. Bryson was further disappointed that he was not able to actually go inside the house. "You look through the windows," he says. "At each window there is a recorded message telling about each room." As he proceeded from window to window he asked another tourist, "What do you think of it?" The friendly stranger replied, "Oh, I think it's great. I come here whenever I'm in Hannibal two, three times a year. Sometimes I go out of my way to come here." Dumbfounded, Bryson replied, "Really?" "Yes," answered the tourist. "I must have been here twenty, thirty times by now. This is a real shrine, you know!"

As the two of them continued walking, Bryson asked his last question of the man. "Would you say the house is just like Twain described it in his books?" "I don't know," said the tourist. "I've never read one of his books."

Not really a true disciple was he?

Thomas did not want to be a casual follower, uncommitted to following Jesus. And Jesus wanted to reassure Thomas that his teachings were not false tokens of heaven.

Dawne Olson, a South Dakota mother of four, was preparing to give a talk on unity at her women's Bible study. She woke up early to type out the scripture verses. She wasn't quite finished when her four children began coming downstairs asking for breakfast. She could hear the children just around the corner in the kitchen as they rummaged through the refrigerator and cupboards for something to eat. At some point they discovered half of a toaster pastry on the counter from the night before. They all began screaming and fighting; each claiming the half-eaten Pop Tart.

As Dawne made a couple of futile attempts to quiet them down, she finished typing the verse in Matthew 5:9 that says, "Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called sons of God." Taking her cue from scripture, she hollered into the kitchen above the noise, "Would somebody PLEASE be the peacemaker?!"

There was a moment's silence and then Garret, age 6, piped up, "I'll be the piece maker, Mom!"

Then to his brother and sisters he said: "Here's a piece for you and you, and a piece for you and one piece for me."

Needless to say, Dawne had her opening illustration on unity and peace for that evening's Bible study!

Robert Drake is a Tennessean who writes stories about growing up in that part of the country a generation ago. He told a story about Miss Caroline Walker, who was a music teacher. She had been doing it for as long as anybody could remember. She was something of a legend in her county in Tennessee.

She had two goals in teaching. One was to teach her girls to be ladies. So she taught them manners as much as she taught them music. She also taught them to play one piece perfectly for the May recital. She rehearsed them and drilled them all year long to play that one piece perfectly, including instructions on how to sit on the piano bench, to spread your skirt as you sit down, and how to announce the song by standing straight and holding your hands together at your waist.

The night of the recital came. It was held in the high school auditorium. Ten pupils of Miss Caroline's were there waiting for their turn. Ann Louise's turn came. She was terrified. She thought she was going to faint. She knew she would never make it, but it was her turn, so she moved forward to the wings where Miss Caroline was waiting.

She could see how nervous Ann Louise was. Her body had become stiff and rigid. Miss Caroline put her hands on Ann Louise's shoulders, and bent down to whisper in her ear, "You have worked hard. You know this piece. You have nothing to fear. And remember, I am counting with you all the way."

With a little shove she pushed Ann Louise out onto the stage where, all of a sudden, she was facing this large audience of everybody's relatives, including her own. She announced her piece, then spread her skirt, and sat on the bench. She noticed that she was much calmer than she thought she would be. She noticed that Miss Caroline was still there in the wings. She remembered the last words that she said to her, "I am counting with you all the way." She didn't say, "I am counting on you." She said, "I am counting with you."

And Drake wrote this. "She felt that they were held together by something beyond either of them alone. Teacher and disciple were as one. She realized that it was this that she had been preparing for all year long, this test. And the music, at her command, came cascading out of the baby grand into the darken auditorium full of joy and full of life, right on cue."

I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you.

So let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.

"When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?" (Psalm 8:3-4)

What, indeed? H.L. Mencken said that man was "a sick fly on a dizzy wheel." Christopher Morley once defined man as "an ingenious assembly of portable plumbing." But Jesus knew better. He knew what genius did the assembling, and told us that we are children of a Divine Parent-God. "I will not leave you orphaned," He said. And because of Him we have come to know that we are not orphans left on the doorstep of an indifferent universe, but rather children of a loving God, a God who loves us infinitely more than our earthly parents love us, even more than we love ourselves!

A little girl had a cut near her eye. Her father quickly took her to see the doctor. The cut was not serious, but the location of the injury made it important that it be fixed properly. The doctor decided a couple of stitches were needed, but he didn't want to give the child an anesthetic. He explained to her that the procedure would be painful and asked if she could stand it. The little girl replied that she could, if her father would hold her hand. The father then took her in his lap, slipped his arm around her, and held her tight. The doctor did his work, and the little girl never flinched. The father could not possibly have erased the pain from this process. If he had not been there, though, the girl's reaction would have been much different.

So it was for the disciples. The time was fast approaching when they would split up and travel to the far corners of the world to proclaim the gospel. Jesus would not be with them physically. He wanted them to know, though, that they would not be alone. His hand would still be in theirs. And that made all the difference in the world.

A century ago John Henry Newman wrote an evening prayer which expresses well the whole spirit in which we see the present in the light of that place which Christ has prepared for us:

Support us, O Lord, all the long day of this troubled life until the shadows lengthen, and the evening comes, when the busy fever of life is hushed, and our work is done. Then in thy mercy grant us a safe lodging, a holy rest, and peace at the last, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Homecomings can be wonderful, emotionally rewarding experiences. About one memorable homecoming, Rev. Scott Grant writes:

"A few years back I spent two months overseas. Experiencing a different culture was exhilarating at first but then became somewhat demanding. I began to yearn for home. After a long flight across the Atlantic, I landed in New York. Bleary-eyed after the 13-hour flight, I passed through customs and held out my passport for the agent. He took a quick glance, noticed how long I'd been gone, handed my passport back to me and said, "Welcome home."

There was nothing special in his voice. He had probably said the same words hundreds of times already that day. But something about those words awakened me out of my comatose state. I experienced a strong emotional reaction that caught me by surprise. Home. I was home."

In John 14:1-14, Jesus tells us about home. Home is not so much a place as it is a Person. Home is with the Father.

Regret. It has powerful strength to trouble our hearts. Some of our most painful regrets are for opportunities lost. As John Greenleaf Whittier said:

Of all sad words of tongue or pen.
The saddest are these: It might have been!

How many people go under a dark cloud by thinking, even momentarily, of the person they almost married, the investment they almost made, the position they nearly won. But for every person who is filled with regret for an opportunity lost, there is another who regrets a deed done, a word spoken, a relationship consummated. These are the stories of decisions made, of tempers lost, of conversations that cannot be re-called. Here are deeds-sometimes sinful ones, but often only erratic or misguided ones - that have changed the course of a life and have left a person with a crushing burden. "I'd give anything," a man or woman says, absolutely anything, if I could take back that one day of my life." Regret. It can eat at your inward being like the most malevolent cancer, destroying by the inch and the hour.  And there is no surgeon's knife, no radium or chemical that can reach it.

Yet, regret can refine and improve character as only a skilled teacher can do. I venture that there are few great saints who have not possessed a high capacity for regret. Effective regret is the growing edge of godliness. But the key word is "effective!"

Saul of Tarsus knew something about regret. His regret was so strong that it surfaced in the midst of a wondrous recital about the resurrection of Christ. As he listed those who had seen the resurrected Christ, he continued, "last of all…he appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God."

Note: This illustration assumes that Jesus in John 14 is attempting to comfort the disciples for the opportunities they will soon squander by denying their relationship to Jesus.

How long would you continue to fly with an airline whose motto was "Safety Standards are Fine for Those Who Are Uptight about It, But Our Engineers Aren't So Narrow"? How excited would you be about going under the scalpel of a surgeon who told you: "You know, I never bothered much with anatomy in Med school, since all medical truth is relative anyway"? How long would you leave your child in a school where the chemistry teacher said to her, "You're free to drink from either that container of H2O or that beaker of H2SO4. After all, they're both clear liquids and we're only talking about a couple of molecules here or there, so imbibe whatever you prefer"?

The great American humorist, Will Rogers, had the reputation that he could make anyone laugh. President Calvin Coolidge, on the other hand, had the reputation that he never laughed. Want to know what happened the time those two met? Rogers was invited to visit the White House and as was the custom, the president's assistant brought Rogers into the Oval Office. As he entered, the assistant said, "President Coolidge, this is Will Rogers. Mr. Rogers, this is President Coolidge." To which Rogers leaned forward and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't catch the name." With that, President Coolidge cracked up and started laughing.

Don't you wish you were as quick on your feet as he was? Quick with a comeback, quick with just the right thing to say. Well, of all the things that Jesus said, some of the most significant are the words in today's Gospel reading, when Jesus says, "I am the way and the truth and the life."

Some pastors fall into the trap of feeling that their job is to rescue people. But only Christ can save. Perhaps the best thing ministers can do is grasp their own salvation, and share that experience with others. Writes William C. Martin in The Art of Pastoring:

Your task is impossible. Consider the demands:

'Show us God.'
'Tell us what God wants.'
'Lead us to God.'

If you think you can do these things, you are already deceived. But you CAN find your own soul and perhaps show others how to do that. To their surprise they will satisfy their demands on their own.

In 1816, Lord Byron wrote a narrative poem that has become a classic. The poem is titled, "The Prisoner of Chillon," and it is the story of a man incarcerated in the dungeon at the Castle of Chillon near Lake Geneva, Switzerland.

The prisoner was in a narrow, cramped dungeon cell for such a long time that he began to think of it as home. He made friends with the spiders, insects, and mice that shared his cell. They were all inmates of the same dungeon and he was monarch of each race.

The years in the dark dungeon cell had taken their toll. He was no longer unhappy or uncomfortable. He had grown accustomed to his environment and came to think of his chains as friends.

One day a bird perched on the crevice of the ledge above and began to sing. It was the sweetest music he had ever heard. Suddenly, the desire to see the outside world overwhelmed him. He grabbed the walls of his cell, and began climbing and struggling up the wall so that he could look out of the little window. In that moment, he saw a world that he had forgotten. There was a crystal blue lake ... and some tall green trees ... and the beautiful little white cottage that he called home nestled against the green hills ... and an eagle soaring majestically across a blue sky.

He saw them all for one magnificent moment and then he fell back into his cell. But that dungeon cell was no longer home. For one fleeting moment he had seen a home that lay beyond the tiny cramped cell of the dungeon. He had seen a vision of a world beyond and hope eternal towered over the despair.

We, too, have a vision beyond our present existence. We are pilgrims of the future because our faith enables us to catch a glimpse of an everlasting Kingdom which lies beyond this world.

There is an old story about a man who complained that he had too much work to do. He never seemed to be caught up. Every day for twenty years he looked at his desk piled high with unfinished projects ... letters to be answered ... bills to be paid ... and problems to be solved. When he walked out of the house to get away from the clutter, he saw the grass that needed to be cut and the hedges that needed to be trimmed. If he could only get caught up, just once, he thought that would be heaven.

One night he dreamed that he was in a large room with a beautiful mahogany desk before him. The desk was clean ... and bright ... and shiny. There were no letters or bills or problems waiting to be solved. Through the window he could see the lawn freshly mowed and the hedges meticulously manicured. It was a great relief. He had caught up at last and now he could enjoy some peace and quiet.

But, now he had nothing to do - nothing but to sit and stare out the window. As he was staring out the window, he noticed a postman walking down the street - but there were no letters in his bag. He called out to the postman and said, "I see you don't have anything to do either?"

"Nope," the postman said, "not a thing."

"I don't know," the man said, "if I like a heaven where there's nothing to do."

"Don't you know?" the postman asked. "This isn't heaven, my friend, this is hell!"

Every believer faces trouble. It is part of life itself. As long as we are in this world, we will face trouble, saint and sinner alike. J.C. Ryle (Expository Thoughts on John's Gospel) calls the words of Christ in our text, "A precious remedy against an old disease." The disease, of course, is trouble. He goes on to describe it:

That disease is trouble of heart. That remedy is faith. Heart trouble is the commonest thing in the world. No rank or class or condition is exempt from it. No bars or bolts or locks can keep it out. Partly from inward causes and partly from outward, partly from the body and partly from the mind, partly from what we love and partly from what we fear, the journey of life is full of trouble. Even the best of Christians have many bitter cups to drink between grace and glory. Even the holiest saints find the world a vale of tears.

Horatio G. Spafford was a Chicago attorney who lost everything he had in the great Chicago fire of 1871. Yet he put his best efforts into helping Dwight L. Moody rebuild the Northside Tabernacle, the first building to go back up after that disaster. In 1873 Spafford's wife and four daughters were en route to England aboard the Ville du Havre when it was struck at sea by another ship and sank. Only his wife survived. In the face of such grief, in the pain and sorrow and guilt that threatened to drown him in sorrow, Spafford wrote:

When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul.

How could he say that? His life was built on a strong foundation, and when the rains came, he knew he was in a house - and his children were in a house - that would stand forever. Remember those other words Jesus spoke about a house?  "In my Father's house are many rooms," he said. "I go to prepare a place for you..." (John 14:1-6).

What are you sure of? What is it that you know that you know that you know?  

There is a saying that the only sure things are death and taxes. In fact, taxes are even surer than death as someone will have to file your last income tax statement for you even after you die. Life raises the stakes on each of us from time to time taking away our certainties.

• You are certain that you have the whole job thing under control until coworkers start whispering news that the company might not make it through the year.
• You are certain you've raised your kids well until the phone rings and it's the police.
• You are certain that your husband still has eyes only for you until he starts coming home later and seems distant in a way you can't quite put your finger on.
• You are certain that life is under control until a routine examination finds a lump and your doctor schedules a biopsy.  

Uncertainty has a way of creeping in on each one of us. Just when everything seems to be under control and life is working out right, something can come along and wreck it all, leaving you to wonder where you went wrong. What happened to that sense of control? What happened to that feeling that something was certain?

At age ninety-three, Rose Kennedy was being interviewed by a magazine reporter. By this time, four of her nine children had died violently. Another daughter, Rosemary, was mentally disabled all her life and would soon be gone.

Mrs. Kennedy had outlived her husband long enough to have seen his rather profligate and unscrupulous life told and retold in the press. She is an old lady, hit by tragedies again and again. The reporter asked about all this and Rose Kennedy answered, slowly: "I have always believed that God never gives a cross to bear larger than we can carry. And I have always believed that, no matter what, God wants us to be happy. He doesn't want us to be sad.

"Birds sing after a storm," she said, "Why shouldn't we?"

In the presence of death, it is not easy to express joy at least not for the world to see. But those in Christ have an inward joy just the same.

Eric Clapton, arguably the greatest living rock guitarist, wrote a heart wrenching song about the death of his four year old son (March 20, 1991). He fell from a 53rd-story window. Clapton took nine months off and when he returned his music had changed. The hardship had made his music softer, more powerful, and more reflective. You have perhaps heard the song he wrote about his son's death. It is a song of hope:

Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven.

Would you hold my hand if I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand if I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way through night and day,
'Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven.

Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please.
Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure,
And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven.

Jesus has just had the Passover meal with his disciples. He has washed their feet in an act of servanthood. He has foretold his betrayal which Judas will soon perform. He has predicted Peter's denial. He has told them he is leaving. But he adds this word of hope: Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house there are many rooms. I go to prepare a place for you and will come again and take you to myself. So that where I am, you may be also.

Hardship has a way of getting our attention. Pain slows us down. Very few us, after facing a trial, come out the same way we entered in. Jesus understood this and attempted to prepare his disciples for the road ahead.

Sometimes, if you will just wait, problems take care of themselves. J. Arthur Rank had a system for doing that. He was one of the early pio­neers of the film industry in Great Britain, and he also happened to be a devout Christian.

Rank found he couldn’t push his worries out of his mind completely; they were always slipping back in. So he finally made a pact with God to limit his worrying to Wednesday. He even made himself a little Wednesday Worry Box and he placed it on his desk. Whenever a worry cropped up, Rank wrote it out and dropped it into the Wednesday Worry Box.

Would you like to know his amazing discovery? When Wednesday rolled around, he would open that box to find that only a third of the items he had written down were still worth worrying about. The rest had managed to resolve themselves. 

If you have a troubled heart, ask God to give you a new perspective. Also ask him to give you patience so that you do not jump ahead and worry about a problem that may never come. But most important of all, ask God for more faith. Faith in God is the best remedy for all our problems. Jesus put it plainly, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.”

Presbyterian pastor and writer Frederick Buechner recalls one low time in his life when God broke through in an unusual way. "I remember sitting parked by the roadside once," Buechner writes, "terribly depressed and afraid about my daughter's illness and what was going on in our family." As he was sitting there thinking about his daughter's illness, he noticed a car that seemed to come from nowhere. His message from God, the word he most needed to see at that moment, was found on the license plate. This personalized license plate, well, let me tell you in Buechner's own words, it "bore on it the one word out of all the words in the dictionary that I needed most to see exactly then. The word was TRUST."

Sitting in his car along side the highway, God's message was revealed on the license plate of a passing car. It's certainly difficult to describe such an experience. "Was the experience something to laugh off as the kind of joke life plays on us every once in a while?" Or was it the word of God?" I am willing to believe that maybe it was something of both," Buechner wrote, "but for me it was an epiphany." The owner of the car turned out to be a trust officer at a local bank. After reading of the incident somewhere, the trust officer paid a personal visit to Buechner one afternoon. He presented Buechner with the license plate which bore the word which he so desperately needed to see that day, TRUST. Buechner placed that license plate on a bookshelf where it serves to remind him of his trust in God. "It is rusty around the edges and a little battered," he later wrote, "and it is also as holy a relic as I have ever seen."

There was a man by the name of Soren Kierkegaard, a Danish philosopher back in the 19th century. The interesting thing is that his writings did not make a real impact on thought and religion until the 20th century. In some of his writings he talks about several different steps that we as human beings take in the religious quest. The first level he talks about is the aesthetic level. Now you do not have to worry about the technical name. Just trust me that the first level is called the aesthetic level. What he talks about is that in this level people dabble in life, trying to enjoy its pleasures. The key word of this level is pleasure-seeking. The second level of life is the ethical level. That is when people begin to take life seriously and the issues of life seriously and give themselves to seeking the good. The first level pleasure, the second level the good. The first level casual dabbling, the second level earnest living. The third level, he says, is divided into two and he calls them Religion One and Religion Two. Religion One has to do with seeking the truth, where we yearn, where we reach out to find this something extra we know is somehow a part of life. That is Religion One and the emphasis there is on truth. So you go pleasure, good, truth.

But he said there is another level that we must discover. This level is revealed in the scriptures. This level is Religion Two where the whole thing is turned around and the grace of God seeks us. The word here is trust. What we can do at this level is to respond in trust to the God who has already moved toward us. To let go and to let God. My younger son is trying to learn how to swim and he cannot understand how you can float on water. The interesting thing about floating is that it is an act of faith. That water will hold you up if you let go and trust it to do so. If you don't, you are going to sink. In fact, sometimes the more you thrash around the quicker you will sink. It is much the same with the faith in God at this second level that Kierkegaard is talking about. Not to work so hard in seeking pleasure or the good or truth but to let go and let the God who is seeking you find you and embrace you in his love.

There was just no way Joshua could logically explain his battle plan to take Jericho. God told Joshua exactly what he wanted him to do. Can you picture Joshua trying to relate the plan to his generals?

"Well, we’re going to march around the city."

"Then what?"

"We’re going to do it seven times."

"Uh huh, then?"

"We’re going to blow the trumpets and make a lot of noise."

"Really?"

"Then the walls are going to fall down."

They probably thought Joshua had battle fatigue. But as the trumpets blasted on the seventh trip around, the walls began to crumble. God wouldn’t let Joshua down when he trusted in him.

Solomon, one of the wisest of the wise, said that the mark of wisdom is to put your trust in the Lord. However bright we might be, whatever our many gifts and talents, they do not compare with those of Almighty God. To put our trust in the Lord and have him guide our lives is the smart thing to do. To others such an act of confidence in the Lord might seem as foolish as Joshua’s battle plans.

The Christian life is not difficult; it’s impossible. Jesus said, "Without me you can do nothing." When life came crashing in upon Martin Luther, he would shout, "Christ is risen! He lives! He lives!" In this way Luther reminded himself that the same power of God which raised Jesus from the dead was now his. With God’s help he could meet and overcome his problems ... however large they were.

If God is powerful enough to create the universe and raise a dead man, he is able to help us handle whatever difficulties life throws our way. Do the smart thing - trust in the Lord.

I was spending the night in the hospital room with my mother.  Fifteen years before, she had won a tough, ravaging battle with cancer. Now it had struck again.  She had a mastectomy that morning and had been sedated all day.  In the middle of the night I was dozing, but her stirring brought me to alertness.  I had the feeling that she wanted to talk, and that she wanted to talk about real things - not just make time passing conversation. 

How did she feel? What was she thinking?  There was a lot of deep sharing.  I hope I never forget that night and what she said. "When you give your life to the Lord, son, everything has to be alright no matter what happens."  It was her way of expressing confidence that she was O.K. In God's hands.  She had known God's love and care in the past, and she could trust him now.  Mom taught me that trust is a verb.  We trust and rely on God to be true to His promises.

In the Apostles' Creed a Christian confesses, "I believe in God the Father Almighty." Many consider the idea of God to be a problem. This prompts them to ask various questions about God which may be considered simple by some. One day a mother sat with her four-year-old girl. The child was watching a cartoon on television. She asked, "Mommy, who made the cartoons?" Her mother happened to see the credit line, "Hanna-Barbera." "Who is Hanna-Barbera?" "Just some people," the mother explained. "Who made the people?" A little annoyed, the mother answered, "God made the people." "But, Mommy, who made God?" By this time her mother lost her patience and her temper and screamed, "Carrie, go play!" Shrugging her shoulders, the child sighed, "Gee whiz! Ask a simple question!"

We have some "simple" but profound questions to ask about God. Is there really a God? Where did God come from? What is God like? Can we know him? Where is God? If we go to philosophers, we get a variety of answers. Sartre speaks of the silence of God; Heidegger of the absence of God; Jaspers of the concealment of God; Bultmann of the hiddenness of God; Buber of the eclipse of God; Tillich of the nonbeing of God; Altizer of the death of God. In contrast, the creed speaks of the almighty fatherhood of God.

Martin Luther gives the best definition of a god: A god is that on which one should rely for everything good, and with which one can take refuge in every need. Thus to have a god is nothing other than to trust and believe in him from the heart -- or, as I have often said, that only trust and faith in the heart make both God and a false god. If your faith and trust is right, then your God is right as well, and again where the belief is false and wrong, then the right God is absent, too. For the two belong together, faith and God. So that to which you give up and hand over your heart is truly your God.

In summary, then, Luther tells us what makes a god: "Whatever, then, your heart clings to or relies upon, that, I say, is properly your God." In other words, your God is whatever or whoever comes first in your life. 

Perhaps some of you remember General Alexander Haig, a military leader in the war in Vietnam and political leader in the Reagan administration. Now, General Haig was not exactly what you would call a great theologian. He once said something which on the surface sounded utterly stupid, and he was roundly criticized by the media for saying it. He said, "There are worse things than a nuclear war." That sounds like he stuck his foot in his mouth, but that is exactly what we Christians believe. What is far worse than a nuclear war? Not having faith and trust in God. Not to trust God and his promises means that we are headed for a destiny even worse than a nuclear holocaust. But to trust and believe the promises of God means that nothing in this world, not even the mushroom cloud of a nuclear bomb or the ecological disaster of global warming or the insidious attack of terminal cancer or the suffering and humiliation of an economic recession can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ. We can believe that because our Judgment Day has already happened.

But there is a fourth kind of soil. There is the seed that falls upon the good earth and takes root and grows to maturity. This crop, we are told, is a harvest that will bear fruit a hundred fold. Jesus mentions this last because itis the thrust of the story. True, there are failures, but the good news is that there is also victory.

Now, here is the hard part. Our efforts in life are not always measurable. Sometimes, you may not see the final product. You may not see the actual harvest. Sometimes all we can do is plant a seed, and trust that God will do the rest. A school teacher works with a troubled child, but she may not know how the story ultimately turns out. All she can do is plant a seed of love and trust that God will do the rest. Sometimes just a word of encouragement to a person in need, or a shared personal thought and someone picks up on it and it gets them through a dark night.

Don't ever underestimate the power of a seed. Did you know that in 1959 there were 1 million Roman Catholics and 600,000 Protestants in China. That may sound like a lot, but when you compare it to a population that is rapidly approaching 1 billion people, you understand what a tiny seed that represented. Then in 1959 China closed it's doors to the outside world. Many people began to wrap a burial shroud around the Christian church in China. They said that it would never survive. Then in 1979 China again opened its doors to the West and to the rest of the world. And a strange thing had happened. That tiny seed 20 years earlier had taken root. The number of Roman Catholics during those dark years rose from 1 million to 3 million and the number of Protestants rose from 600,000 to 3 million. The church in a time of persecution and hardship, had grown 53% in a twenty year period. How do you explain it? Fertile soil! There was obviously a hunger for the gospel.

One of the main reasons people hold false perceptions of God is our tendency to project onto God the unloving characteristics of the people we look up to. We tend to believe that God is going to treat us as others do. The Gaultieres agree: We like to think that we develop our image of God from the Bible and teachings of the church, not from our relationships, some of which have been painful. It's easier if our God image is simply based on learning and believing the right things. Yet, intensive clinical studies on the development of peoples' images of God show that it is not so simple. One psychologist found that this spiritual development of the God image is more of an emotional process than an intellectual one. She brings out the importance of family and other relationships to the development of what she calls one's "private God." She says that, "No child arrives at the 'house of God' without his pet God under his arm." And for some of us the "pet God" we have tied on a leash to our hearts is not very nice, nor is it biblically accurate. This is because our negative images of God are often rooted in our emotional hurts and destructive patterns of relating to people that we carry with us from our past.

Imagine a little girl of seven who has known only rejection and abuse from her father whom she loves dearly. At Sunday School she is taught that God is her heavenly Father. What is her perception of Him going to be? Based on her experience with her natural father, she will see God as an unstable, rejecting, abusing person she cannot trust. Consider just a few ways in which your image of your father possibly may have affected your perception of God, which in turn affects your self-image.

• If your father was distant, impersonal and uncaring, and he wouldn't intervene for you, you may see God as having the same characteristics. As a result, you feel that you are unworthy of God's intervention in your life. You find it difficult to draw close to God because you see Him as disinterested in your need and wants.
• If your father was a pushy man who was inconsiderate of you, or who violated and used you, you may see God in the same way. You probably feel cheap or worthless in God's eyes, and perhaps feel that you deserve to be taken advantage of by others. You may feel that God will force you not ask you to do things you don't want to do.
• If your father was like a drill sergeant, demanding more and more from you with no expression of satisfaction, or burning with anger with no tolerance for mistakes, you may have cast God in his image. You likely feel that God will not accept you unless you meet His demands, which seem unattainable. This perception may have driven you to become a perfectionist.
• If your father was a weakling, and you couldn't depend on him to help you or defend you, your image of God may be that of a weakling. You may feel that you are unworthy of God's comfort and support, or that He is unable to help you.
• If your father was overly critical and constantly came down hard on you, or if he didn't believe in you or your capabilities and discouraged you from trying, you may perceive God in the same way. You don't feel as if you're worth God's respect or trust. You may even see yourself as a continual failure, deserving all the criticism you receive.
• In contrast to the negative perceptions many women have about God, let me give you several positive character qualities of a father. Notice how these qualities, if they existed in your father, have positively influenced your perception of God. If you father was patient, you are more likely to see God as patient and available for you. You feel that you are worth God's time and concern. You feel important to God and that He is personally involved in every aspect of your life.
• If your father was kind, you probably see God acting kindly and graciously on your behalf. You feel that you are worth God's help and intervention. You feel God's love for you deeply and you're convinced that He wants to relate to you personally.
• If your father was a giving man, you may perceive God as someone who gives to you and supports you. You feel that you are worth God's support and encouragement. You believe that God will give you what is best for you, and you respond by giving of yourself to others.
• If your father accepted you, you tend to see God accepting you regardless of what you do. God doesn't dump on you or reject you when you struggle, but understands and encourages you. You are able to accept yourself even when you blow it or don't perform up to your potential.
• If your father protected you, you probably perceive God as your protector in life. You feel that you are worthy of being under His care and you rest in His security.

William Willimon, the Chaplain at DukeUniversity, tells of a woman who, with her family had begun to attend his church. Quoting him, he says, "She attended our church when her family vacationed at the coast. She said she had begun attending our church a number of years before because it was the only church on the beach where a black person could feel welcomed. This pleased me. She had had a difficult life and had experienced first hand oppression, tragedy, and hate. One summer she arrived with her family and, when I visited her, she told me the previous year had been tough. Her beloved husband of many years had died a terrible and painful death. Her only son had been incarcerated after a sleazy banking deal went bad. Now she had taken in her two little grandchildren as her sole responsibility, even though she was now getting on in years. 

As I visited her, I felt this overwhelming sense of futility. What would become of her now? How could she hope to overcome her difficulties? 

Yet she, expressing faith born no doubt out of years of struggle and pain, said to me, "I know God will make a way for us. I've found that when I've reached out, he'll be there. Not always when I wanted him, but always when I absolutely needed him. He doesn't always come on time, but he always comes.  I'll make it, with his help, yes I will." 

Without thinking I exclaimed, "How can this be? You've got these two children, huge financial problems, your health isn't great. After all you've been through?" 

How can this be? It was my learned, "Tish, tish, old lady. You've got to face facts, be realistic." 

But how did I know? How could I be so sure that that woman's calm, confident trust, trust affirmed in so many places in scripture, was stupidity? Maybe she is right. Maybe God's life-giving abilities can't be contained in my little box labeled "POSSIBLE" next to the big one called "IMPOSSIBLE"? 

Maybe she is right. The wind blows where it will." 

Why do people resist surrendering themselves to Christ? For many, the reason they give is that they don't really trust God to handle their lives to their suiting. A young lady stood talking to an evangelist on the subject of consecration, of giving herself wholly to God. She said, "I dare not give myself wholly to the Lord, for fear He will send me out to China as a missionary." The evangelist said, "If some cold, snowy morning a little bird should come, half-frozen, pecking at your window, and you would let you take it in and feed it, thereby putting itself entirely in your power, what would you do? Would you grip it in your hand and crush it? Or would you give it shelter, warmth, food, and care?" A new light came into the girl's eyes. She said, "Oh, now I see, I see. I can trust God!" Two years later she again met the evangelist and recalled to him the incident. She told of how she had finally abandoned herself to God—and then her face lit up with a smile and said, "And do you know where God is going to let me serve Him?" And there was now a twinkle in her eye—"In China!"

I believe it was the Mills Brothers who made popular the song, "You Always Hurt the One You Love." Fighting is one of the realities of married life. Unfortunately, most of us do not handle it well. Fighting is a negative way of communicating some very strong feelings. If we accept the premise that the point of all communication is to get closer to each other, then we might seek more constructive and positive ways of communicating our strong feelings rather than destructive fighting. Although space doesn’t permit us to consider all the suggestions for what I call "good fighting," let me mention just a few. Discover what you are really fighting about. What’s really underneath it all, then stick to the subject, don’t bring up past history. No name calling. Remember you are fighting with the one you love - hurt her and you are hurting yourself and your marriage.

Back to the Mills Brothers ... if we are able to hurt the one we love more than anyone else, then we, as a spouse, have the greatest ability to bring healing to our relationship. If we really want to heal the other person, we can. Healing not only after fights but throughout life. Healing comes through a gentle touch or by saying "I’m sorry" and really meaning it. Healing also comes through forgiving one another and accepting each other’s limitations.

Jesus Christ is the greatest facilitator of healing in marriage. He gives us the power to forgive our spouse - not because he/she deserves it but because he/she needs it. We forgive not only for his sake but for our sake and for our marriage’s sake. For marriage is something that we are in together, and when one or the other is hurting, both of us are hurting, and our marriage is hurting.

Those who are wise, work hard at their marriages. Those who are wiser work hard too, but they also invite God’s help in loving each other. If God wants your marriage to work, and he certainly does, then he is anxious to give you whatever you need to make it work. Both of you must keep strong in the Lord. There is a little Christian saying that goes, "When I try, I fail. When I trust, He succeeds." The best thing we can do in our marriage is not try so hard but to trust even harder.

As people, there will be those moments when we cannot help but express negative feelings to our spouse. Be careful not to try to hurt the person, but rather attempt to express how his/her actions are hurting you. Tell it like it is. Don’t hold back. But let the Lord help you share your strong communication in a loving manner. When you have a fight, have a good one.

Grace is God drawing sinners closer and closer to him. How does God in grace prosecute this purpose? Not by shielding us from assault by the work, the flesh, and the devil, nor by protecting us from burdensome and frustrating circumstance, not yet by shielding us from troubles created by our own temperament and psychology, but rather by exposing us to all these things, so as to overwhelm us with a sense of our own inadequacy, and to drive us to cling to him more closely.

This is the ultimate reason, from our standpoint, why God fills our lives with troubles and perplexities of one sort and another it is to ensure that we shall learn to hold him fast. The reason why the Bible spends so much of its time reiterating that God is a strong rock, a firm defense, and a sure refuge and help for the weak is that God spends so much of his time showing us that we are weak, both mentally and morally, and dare not trust ourselves to find or follow the right road. When we walk along a clear road feeling fine, and someone takes our arm to help us, likely we would impatiently shake him off; but when we are caught in rough country in the dark, with a storm brewing and our strength spent, and someone takes our arm to help us, we would thankfully lean on him. And God wants us to feel that our way through life is rough and perplexing, so that we may learn to lean on him thankfully. Therefore he takes steps to drive us out of self-confidence to trust in himself, to in the classic scriptural phrase for the secret of the godly man's life "wait on the Lord."

Henri Nouwen speaks of the challenges and rewards of placing our trust in God. Says Nouwen, "The great spiritual task facing me is to so trust that I belong to God that I can be free in the world – free to speak even when my words are not received; free to act even when my actions are criticized, ridiculed, or considered useless; free also to receive love from people and to be grateful for all the signs of God's presence in the world."

William Barclay says the verse "blessed are the poor in spirit" means, "Blessed is the man who has realized his own utter helplessness, and who has put his whole trust in God. If a man has realized his own utter helplessness, and has put his whole trust in God, there will enter into his life two things. He will become completely detached from things, for he will know that things have not got it in them to bring happiness or security; and he will become completely attached to God, for he will know that God alone can bring him help, and hope, and strength. The man who is poor in spirit is the man who has realized that things mean nothing, and that God means everything."

I like the story of an unusual account of how the news of the Battle of Waterloo reached England. The report from the battle ground back in those days was first carried by sailing ship to the southern coast and then by signal flags to London. And when the report was received at Winchester, the flags on the cathedral began to spell out the message, "Wellington defeated." And then before the message could be completed, a heavy fog rolled in and with that heavy fog the gloom of a nation filled the hearts of the people. But then, when the mist began to lift, it became evident that the signals of the Winchester Cathedral had really spelled out this triumphant message. "Wellington defeated the enemy!"

Too often we allow the future to be colored by what we understand at the moment and it keeps us from moving forward. Trust God in the midst of transition and conflict. Let go of resistance to change. Let go of panic, release yourself again into His hands. God is for you and God will see you through. Trust in him.

I was only seven or eight when one of our small-town West Texas heroes came home from Vietnam. He had lived three doors down from me, was a star on the high school football team, and had been in my father's Sunday school class before going off to Vietnam. He came back with one leg and a message. God told him, he said, that the war was wrong and that our church and our town needed to change our minds and hearts about racial segregation. Since he was never given the opportunity to stand in the pulpit and testify, he prophesied in casual conversation, but the results were the same: everyone talked about what he said, what had happened to him over there, and whether or not the war had messed up his head. One Sunday after church, my father commented to my mother that perhaps the boy had some mental problems from Vietnam, but that didn't mean that what he said was wrong. Soon my father, as a member of the local school board, began pushing for our schools to be integrated. 
 
Though that young Vietnam veteran never considered himself a prophet, I've come to believe that he was. And although our church didn't know what to do with him, he was formed by its members and taught from the nursery on up that God speaks and God calls, and that our job is to "trust and obey, for there's no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."
 
 

Christianity and patriotism have much in common. It is significant to note that:

Our patriotic hymn, "My Country, 'Tis of Thee," was written by a Baptist clergyman, Samuel Francis Smith.

The Pledge of Allegiance to the flag was written in 1892 by a Baptist minister, Francis Bellamy.

The words, "In God We Trust," carried on all of our coins, are traced to the efforts of the Rev. W. R. Watkinson of Ridleyville, Pennsylvania. His letter of concern, addressed to the Hon. S. P. Chase, was dated November 13, 1861. Seven days later Mr. Chase wrote to James Pollock, Director of the U.S. Mint as follows:

"No nation can be strong except in the strength of God, or safe except in His defense. The trust of our people in God should be declared on our national coins. Will you cause a device to be prepared without delay with a motto expressing in the finest and tersest words possible, this national recognition."

The president of the College of New Jersey, the Reverend John Witherspoon (Presbyterian), was the only clergyman to sign the Declaration of Independence.

He is too much forgotten in our history books: John Witherspoon had a far-reaching influence on democracy. He had personally taught several of the signers of the document, and nine of them were graduates of the little college over which he presided at Princeton.

When he took up his pen to put his name to the document, Witherspoon declared: "There is a tide in the affairs of men, a spark. We perceive it now before us. To hesitate is to consent to our own slavery. That noble instrument upon the table, that insures immortality to its author, should be subscribed this very morning by every pen in this house. He that will not respond to its accents, and strain every nerve to carry into effect its provisions, is unworthy of the name of free man. For my own part, of property I have some; of reputation, more. That reputation is staked, that property is pledged on the issue of this contest; and although these gray hairs must soon descend into the sepulcher, I would infinitely rather that they descend thither by the hand of the executioner than desert at this crisis the sacred cause of my country."

In a large attractive office in a major city, a man worked for several months next to a small attractive woman. He had been there only a few days when he thought he'd ask her to lunch, which he did. The following day he asked her for dinner and they began a long dating relationship. They went to craft fairs together, since he liked to do that. They went to the ocean, which he also liked to do. They used to take long walks along the river.

He liked this relationship. He had lived for many years with his mother. In fact, it was only a few months after she died that he began dating his co-worker. Little by little, however, she began to dislike both the relationship and this man. She felt like she really wasn't herself when she was with him. She couldn't speak what she really felt. She rarely asserted where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. She later said, "I just wasn't Sandra with him."

So she terminated her social, dating relationship with this man. Once she did, she began to feel like herself again. Her friends told her, "You're more like the old Sandra now."

Across the same town, in another office, a young man sat at his desk for eight years, struggling to manage his office work force. Outside he was a friendly, generous person. In the office he was the same way and his workers flattened him out, like steamrollers over an asphalt road. He worked long, long hours; he holed himself up behind his desk to keep all the records accurate; he just about wore himself out. Finally his friends told him, "Steve, you'd better get out of that job. You're not yourself anymore. Those people are eating you alive and you're not getting anywhere."

He protested, "But it's a good job. I make good money. And besides, it is what I do best. How can I even look for anything else?"

Then the company was sold. New management came in. All the supervisors were replaced and Steve found himself on the street. He was terrified. "To dig I am unable, to beg I am ashamed," he said. "What can I do?"

His friends told him they were glad he was fired. "At least you are your old self," they said. "And you'll find something. Just go for it." He did, and now he's doing better than he ever could have in the position he once felt he could never leave.

The steward in today's gospel lesson is like both Sandra and Steve. Sandra was not herself in that relationship. Steve was not himself in that job. Both were wasting away, losing that which was most precious to them both: their proper identities. Both felt they could not survive if they gave up something so close and precious as a relationship or a job.

In today's gospel lesson the steward's master calls him on the carpet. In Luke's mind, this Lord and Master is God. God always calls his stewards into question when they are wasteful of who and what they are. This steward is not just wasting his master's goods. The steward is wasting himself. Nothing is more precious in God's household than his steward's proper identity. This is God's gift to this steward, and he is wasting it. No wonder God calls him to account.

God does this to us all the time. He checks our relationships and he checks our jobs -- to help us make sure we are not wasting our identities where we are. This steward was. So God dismissed him. He had to get a new job and a new relationship. God does not tolerate our wasting who we are.

This dismissal turned the light on for the steward. "What shall I do? To dig I am unable, to beg I am ashamed." Finally he came to an assessment of who he was and what he could do. He came to value his own identity, one of his master's most precious goods.

He called in his master's creditors. "How much do you owe? One hundred barrels of oil? Take your bill and write 50." Did he cheat his master? Not at all. The commercial documents from that time indicate that 50 percent was the normal commission. He renounced what he thought he had to have to live on -- and he won friends for himself in so doing.

"How much do you owe? One hundred bushels of wheat? Take your bill and write 80." He did not cheat his master. He simply renounced his own commission. He gave up what he thought he needed to survive, and he survived much better without it. He zeroed in on his own identity, rather than on the commission he thought he had to have to survive.

Bruno Bettelheim, who has studied the survivors of the concentration camps in World War II, writes that those who survived were able to give up everything they thought they needed and, in so giving, they survived. Those who thought they would die if they had no clothing, no jewelry, no regular food, no books -- they did not make it.

Sometimes God will do to us what he did to this steward. He will strip us down to the very core of our existence to make us discover who we really are. He will bring us to a crossroad in life where we will be forced to say, "To dig I am not able, to beg I am ashamed." There God will reveal to us who we are. As we reach to him for help we will find ourselves renouncing our commissions -- whatever we think we need to survive but we really don't. God knows that.

Luther found himself in this position many times in his life. Once, as he began his study of law, he was struck down in a thunderstorm. Terrified, he cried out, "Dear Saint Ann, help me. I will become a monk." He quit his study of law and became a theologian instead -- the identity God wanted for him in the first place. He was wasting himself in law.

Later on, as a monk, he studied Paul's Epistle to the Romans. At that time in his life he felt he could not be Martin Luther unless he ended each day with a tray full of good works to present to God. In praying over Paul, he learned the difference between works righteousness and faith. He learned he was wasting God's gift of Martin Luther's identity in that daily tray full of good works.

He wrote: "Night and day I pondered until I saw the connection between the justice of God and the statement that the just shall live by faith. Then I grasped that the justice of God is that righteousness by which through mercy and sheer grace God justified us through faith. Thereupon I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise." Martin Luther the Do-Gooder was reborn Martin Luther the Believer.

Today's gospel lesson introduces that curious term, "mammon," an Aramaic word which means: "that in which I put my trust." We are like Sandra, Steve, and this steward. How easy to put all our trust in relationships or commissions or a job. God will not let us do that forever. He will force us to give up those people and those things we feel are absolutely critical. In God's eyes they are roadblocks to the truth. He will take them away. Then we will discover our real identities as God's stewards, and him alone shall we serve. "

The following is a poem from Tim Hansel's book "Holy Sweat" which describes how we should ride through life with Jesus in control:

At first, I saw God as my observer, my judge, keeping track of the things I did wrong, so as to know whether I merited heaven or hell when I die. He was out there sort of like the president. I recognized His picture when I saw it, but I didn't really know Him.

But later on, when I recognized this Higher Power, it seemed as though life was rather like a bike ride, but it was a tandem bike, and I noticed that God was in the back helping me pedal.

I don't know just when it was that he suggested we change places, but life has not been the same since—life with my Higher Power, that is. God makes life exciting!

But when He took the lead, it was all I could do to hang on! He knew delightful paths, up mountains and through rocky places—and at breakneck speeds. Even though it looked like madness, he said, "Pedal!"

I worried and was anxious and asked, "Where are you taking me?" He laughed and didn't answer, and I started to learn trust.

I forgot my boring life and entered into adventure. When I'd say, 'I'm scared," He'd lean back and touch my hand.

He took me to people with gifts that I needed, gifts of healing, acceptance, and joy. They gave me their gifts to take on my journey, our journey, God’s and mine.

And we were off again. He said, "Give the gifts away; they're extra baggage, too much weight." So I did, to the people we met, and I found that in giving I received, and our burden became light.

At first, I did not trust Him in control of my life. I thought He'd wreck it, but He knows bike secrets—knows how to make it lean to take sharp corners, dodge large rocks, and speed through scary passages.

And I am learning to shut up and pedal in the strangest places. I’m beginning to enjoy the view and the cool breeze on my face with my delightful constant Companion.

And when I'm sure I just can't do any more, He just smiles and says, “Pedal!"

Dawn Hetland didn't move a muscle. The worship service was over. The choir had filed out. The pastor was at the back door greeting the worshippers. The pews were quickly becoming empty. But Dawn did not move. She sat silently, her hands folded, her head bowed in prayer. Bridget Glass was a life-long friend of Dawn Hetland. As she was leaving the sanctuary that Sunday morning she happened to see her friend Dawn with her head bowed low. Bridget thought something must be wrong. She went quickly to Dawn's side, tapped her on the shoulder, and asked if everything was all right. "Oh, yeah, sure," Dawn replied, orienting herself once again to her surroundings. "I was just praying. I've got an important decision to make and I need all the help and guidance I can get." "What decision is that?" Bridget asked. "About my future, Bridget. You know that I've just finished medical school. That's been my goal for any number of years now. So I've finished. So what? What do I do now? I never thought this would all seem so hard and complicated. I've got an offer to join a team of physicians in Tampa, Florida. But I've also been invited to do a residency program in Internal Medicine. I'm really torn between these two offers. All I've ever wanted to do was to be a doctor as a way of living out my Christian faith. Both of these offers open up an opportunity for me to serve God. But which one should I take? What does God want me to do with my life? That's the question I can't answer."

"And that's what you've been sitting here praying for?" Bridget asked. "Yes," Dawn answered. "I really don't know what to do. So I pray. I don't think I've ever prayed for anything so much in my whole life. But I'm not getting any answers. God seems to be very silent!" "Have you asked for advice from people you trust?" Bridget asked. Dawn nodded her head in assent. "Have you made a list of all the positives and negatives with these two possibilities?" Bridget inquired further. Dawn nodded for a second time. "I don't know what else you can do then," Bridget said in a comforting voice. "You've just got to make a bold decision now and get on with your life." "That's easy for you to say," Dawn shot back. "How can I make a bold decision when I don't even know what to decide. Why can't I see a flash of light in the sky? Why doesn't a still, small voice speak to me?" "Now you're asking too much," Bridget replied. "Only a handful of people living or dead have received such signs from God. I don't know if you were here a couple of weeks ago when Pastor Hagedorn preached about discerning God's will for our lives. Make a list of the positives and negatives, he said. Talk to people you trust. Take the matter to God in prayer. Then decide with boldness which course to take." "But what if I choose the wrong thing?" Dawn wondered aloud. "The status of your life before God does not depend upon making right decisions," Bridget said firmly. "We live our lives under the canopy of God's forgiving love. Our God of grace will walk with you no matter what path you choose. And remember, 'God works all things together for good with those who love God.' Don't worry, Dawn. God will take your decision, whatever it is, and make the best of it.""