Some time ago, I was reading Newsweek magazine and came across an article by Herbert Gold. Now I don’t know who Herbert Gold is, but he wrote a marvelous article about his visit to the Soviet Union and his sharing with the dissenters that Soltzeneitzen after __ defection. Gold was disturbed, as I was when I was in the Soviet Union a few months ago, about the abandonment of hope he found among the people of Russia. There was a tremendously morbid sense of despair. He closed his article by sharing a personal experience he had with a professor friend outside the city of Kiev. They were standing in a desecrated, bulldozed Jewish cemetery. There were smashed columns and gaping holes filled with brackish ice, where coffins had been. The young daughter of the professor was standing beside one of these open graves weeping. Her great-grandparents had been buried there.

As they tramped through the slush and the mud, the snow and the ice, everyone knew that there was really no reason for the Soviet authorities to have done this. Yet, nevertheless, in the middle of the night, they had taken a giant bulldozer and had sought to destroy that ancient Jewish presence in Kiev. In that setting, Herbert Gold’s professor friend said, you have heard of brain drain – and that’s what the Soviet authorities were complaining about, because so many of their intellectuals were defecting. You have heard of brain drain – the problem here in Russia, though, is not brain drain, he continued, that’s not why we’re having so many troubles. The problem here is soul drain – s o u l – soul drain. That grabbed me. Isn’t that our problem? Not only in the Soviet Union, but all over the world?

I believe that’s our particular problem in the United States. We have been drained of soul. The sense of mystery has been swept away. Maybe that’s the plight of so-called man come of age. The terrible threat of modern technology is that technological persons will become mere extensions of their technology, rather than technology being our servants, we become the servants of technology. And I don’t know a more vivid description for our predicament than that one – soul drain. If we look, we can see it. We can see it in the rising use of drugs and the rising consumption of alcohol. We can see it in the mad pursuit of pleasure that is turning ours into the most hedonistic, the most promiscuous, and the most self-centered culture ever. Soul drain.

We see it in what’s happening to the youth of our land, without meaning they turn to suicide – causing suicide to the second major cause of death among people in the 16-21 age category. We see it also in the futility of the elder people of our country. And, again, the staggering fact that one-half, one-half of all suicides in the United States if of persons 65 years old and older. Soul drain. But that’s focusing the problem outside ourselves. I see it in people like and me, who live in East Memphis and Germantown, in North Atlanta and Bridgeport, Connecticut, in Shaker Heights and Northbrook, people who are caught up in the rat races of jobs and lifestyles that have become ruts, which are really endless graves. The new house seems empty. The promotion or the new job doesn’t give the satisfaction it promised. Money doesn’t purchase meaning, and knowing people doesn’t mean we have friends. Life grows stale; everything begins to feel flat, empty, dull, routine. We’re drained of soul – and you know, this is a personal confession – I also see it in people like me, the professionally religious, the ordained clergy – the fire dies out, the sense of calling is burned out by routine, security becomes paramount, especially in the Methodist system, where everybody’s guaranteed a job, and risk-taking is gone. We begin to blush at words like miracle and mystery and transcendence and grace. Or we spend our time as creatures, rationalizing, seeking to make the message reasonable. We become faddish in our theological stances and our theological pursuits become cold, intellectual towers in which we hide. Deep down, however, if the fire hasn’t gone out completely, deep down in our souls, we know that the secular city can never replace the city of God. And God talked, however cheap we might make it on television and radio, and even in pulpits, God talk is still the language of the soul. The question is – how do you minister to that kind of dilemma? It’s one thing to diagnose a situation, it’s altogether something else to write a prescription. And unfortunately, the church hasn’t been very bold during the past 20 or 30 years in writing prescriptions. We’ve not been very bold in proclaiming that there is an answer – not only to soul drain, but to all the problems that plague human life. And I want to be presumptuous this morning, and bold in offering a prescription.

Did you hear the story of that preacher out in Texas? Texas preachers are a special breed I understand. He was holding forth one Sunday morning in a large sanctuary like this, and it was the tradition in that church for the young people to sit in the balcony, as it’s the tradition for young people to sit in our balcony here. And that particular Sunday, the balcony, as well as the sanctuary was packed. The balcony especially packed with young people, and people were really involved in the preaching. He was a dramatic sort of fellow, and he would pound the pulpit now and then to make a point, and one young person, a young woman, was sitting on the front row in the balcony and was intently involved in everything the preacher was saying. And when he made one of his dramatic points and pounded the pulpit, she leaned too far forward and tumbled over the balcony rail. There was a concrete floor below, but fortunately between her and the concrete floor, there was a chandelier. Her dress caught on it. It save her life, but it left her in a rather embarrassing position. But the preacher, the master of every situation, didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t miss a beat. He says whomever dares look at poor Ms. Brown, the Lord will strike him blind. An old deacon on the front row said, I’m going to risk one eye. I don’t want us to, I don’t want us to risk just one eye this morning, I want us to look with both eyes. I want us to look with both eyes at a prescription for this plaguing problem of soul drain.

The first movement in the answer is that we have to recover a sense of mystery. We have to recover a sense of mystery – that mystery that has been swept away from our lives. We’ve been living in the kind of age and we’re the victims of the kind of forces that have destroyed our sense of the transcendent, because we are a do-it-yourself people. We are dependent upon our own selves, our own institutions, our own organizational and management expertise, to do for us what needs to be done. Yet, our desperate need, our desperate need is for a sense of mystery - the experience of the transcendent, that power beyond ourselves that notes the fall of a sparrow, and is concerned about the coming in and the going out of every one of us.

And you know, it’s really no new mystery – it has been the saving mystery of people in every age. Moses discovered it when seeing the burning bush, knowing that it was not consumed and out of that event, hearing the voice of God, he experienced the mystery. Elijah was overcome by it when fleeing Jezebel and being confronted by God. He knew the mystery. God was not in the shattering earthquake or the blinding wind or the blazing fire, but he heard God. He knew the mystery in that still, small voice that thundered in his soul. John the Baptist had the mystery confirmed. Folks flocked out of Jerusalem and Galilee to be baptized by him in the Jordan. But no messianic complex overcame John as it does too many of us religious types, because he knew a new mystery. I baptize you with water unto repentance, he said, but he that is coming after me is mightier than I. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire, and the line of witnesses goes on. Paul experienced it on the Damascus road – cultivated it, then joined the refrain and sang about it in what to me has become one of the most significant verses in the New Testament. And almost every day now for the past five years, the first thing I say to myself in the morning is this 28^th verse of the first chapter of Colossians. Paul said, the secret is simply this, Christ in you. Yes, Christ in you, bringing with him the hope of all the glorious things to come. That’s the answer to soul drain – the experience of ultimate mystery. God himself with us through the indwelling Christ. And that brings me to the second movement.

Not only are we to recover the sense of mystery – we are to discover the mystery as a personal experience. We are to discover the mystery as a personal experience. I want you to hear this scripture lesson now for the sermon. I deliberately waited now to read it because I want to share it with you from the Phillips translation. The most beautiful symbol in the New Testament concerning who we are in relation to Christ from the 15^th chapter of John. Listen to Jesus. I am the vine. You are the branches. He removes any of my branches which are not bearing fruit, and he prunes every branch which does bear fruit to increase its yield. Now you have already been pruned by my words. You must go on growing in me and I will grow in you. For just as the branch cannot bear any fruit unless it shares the life of the vine, so you can bear no fruit unless you share my life. For the plain fact is, that apart from me, you can do nothing. Extravagant but real. Simple but not simplistic. The answer, the ultimate answer to soul drain.

Now I’m a pretty simple guy. Jeri doesn’t think I’m so simple, and you may not think I’m so simple. But I’m a pretty simple guy. And my theology really is rather simple. I believe that Jesus came for one purpose and one purpose alone. Jesus came to bring himself to us and in bringing himself to bring God. He came to give us the power to be and do all those things God wants us to be and do. So John could also say, to as many as received him, to them he gave power to become children of God. Now at the heart of the good news is a truth, which you and I must appropriate if would escape the threat of soul drain, and this is the truth – Christ is alive. That’s right. What these young people sing about, Christ is alive, and that’s good news. In his resurrected power, he is present with us here and now in this place. He loved the world and he never left it. That’s right. He loved the world and he never left it. And he invites us to accept the power which he offers. I am the vine, you are the branches. Grow in me and I will grow in you. Until we grasp this, or better, until we’re grasped by it, we won’t make much progress in overcoming soul drain. You see, I’m really talking about finding a life of prayer. The mystery becoming personal, a life for the spirit. This is prayer. Abiding in Christ, staying in touch with the source of life, not being cut off from the root. Sharing in the life of Christ and allowing him to share in ours, growing in him and living our lives in and for and through him. So Paul affirmed the answer to soul drain – Christ in you, the hope of glory. He is the hope of glory. The one possibility of that splendor, which is so lacking in most of our lives; the only source of divine vitality, which is life indeed. If you abide in me – that’s the big IF, which stands between our barrenness, our soul drain and fruitful, redemptive prayer. Abiding in him, prayer becomes the presence for which our spirits cry. The comradeship which sweetens our loneliness. The victory which banishes our fears. The medicine that heals our diseases. The answer which resolves our tragedy. The redemptive healing. The redemptive healing, for soul drain. And that brings me to the final movement in our answer to soul drain.

Our commitment to the initiative and sovereignty of God. Now let me say that again. Our commitment to the initiative and sovereignty of God. You see, the nature of Christian prayer does not change. The practice, the techniques, the style, the ingredients; all this changes from person to person and from place to place. Episcopalians don’t pray like Baptists. Methodists don’t pray like Pentecostals, most of the time. But the nature of Christian prayer doesn’t change. It requires the person who prays to accept the costly reality of God’s initiative and the sovereignty of God’s will. Don’t miss that. For the person who prays, it requires the costly reality of God’s initiative and the sovereignty of God’s will.

Let me illustrate it - out of an experience in our family, at a particular time in our lives, about six years ago. Never has a short time frame been so packed with such joy and sorrow, such triumph and such tragedy. It was a roller coaster of mountains and valleys, mostly valleys. During that time, we had to learn what it means to wait on the Lord. To wait on the Lord. To accept his sovereignty and to follow his initiative. Just a brief overview of that time frame will indicate some of the dramatic dimensions of it. On August 15, 1975, I was nominated to be the editor of The Upper Room. One month later, on September 15, my 43-year-old brother, whom I love dearly, was killed in a senseless industrial accident. On November 1, I took over the work of the world editor of The Upper Room, a ministry for which I felt tremendously inadequate. And then on November 15, it seemed as though everything was happening on the 15^th, like paying your taxes; it seemed that everything was happening on the 15^th. On November 15, I was in an automobile accident that left me with a broken leg, some broken ribs, and collapsed lungs. Just when I was coming home from the hospital, on December 15, Kim our oldest daughter had to be rushed to the hospital, an appendix had almost ruptured. Just as she was coming home from the hospital, the day before Christmas, our 18-year-old nephew, Tim, the son of my brother who had been killed, came to live with us, and there issued five or six months of frustrating hell, because his lifestyle was not commensurate with that of our family. His style involved the use and the sell of drugs. And then to cap it off, he was involved in a motorcycle accident which messed up his face. It was hell, and I say that with depth of feeling. Some people ask, does religion make any difference when the bottom falls out? The answer to that depends on which kind of religion you have.

What vision of God do you take with you into the darkness? I believe that people are being victimized by a lot of false promising; and I believe that the church is going to be held responsible for wrecked and cynical lives all along the highway of life, and especially these television and radio preachers, for offering such superficial promises. Because most of the time, the promises they offer is the promise of deliverance and escape. And when darkness begins to enfold and when impinging crisis fully blooms, people who’ve heard that look for escape immediately – they want deliverance now. They expect God’s deliverance to take place in the moment. And when those expectations are not met, disappointment and disillusionment come; and I meet people like that every week. Blinding them to the things that are occurring that could have deep meaning, and often doubt and despair result, cynicism and the loss of faith.

I thank God even now, as our family spent long days in pain and puzzlement, as we anguished in our relationship with our nephew and prayed long and hard about our responsibility, our Christian responsibility to him and the whole community in which he was involved. We didn’t have any exaggerated notion as to what God might do. And in the midst of that ordeal, the word of Isaiah became poignantly real – They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint. Not much of a gift, some would say. Just to be able to plod along, no great promise there. Ah, if you’re the one who is walking and the path is not clear, and you don’t have any direction or the spirit to run; when life is reduced to a walk not to faint. Not to faint is a great gift. I admit, I verged on anger and bitterness at times. I was certainly confused and frustrated. In the midst of that ordeal, I couldn’t see any purpose in what was happening. Yet, I’m here to report to you that, by the grace of God, we didn’t succumb to the anger and bitterness, the frustration, and despair. Deep down at the bottom, we were given the strength to walk and not faint. Yes, maybe the least of the gifts, but because we were willing to settle for it, so little and yet so much, our faith made all the difference; in fact, it kept us going. During those days, we did not succumb to soul drain. We remembered the God who had made himself known in the light, and he was present with us in the dark, involved in every moment of suffering and pain, frustration and despair. Now I believe he’s there as mystery. And I want you to hear that.

I believe he’s there as mystery. Sometimes we don’t understand what God is doing. Sometimes we don’t even realize that God is there. We certainly don’t feel God’s presence. We can’t get our minds, our little minds around the great movements of God. Even so, even so – he’s there as an inexhaustible energy, sustaining us, and when we wait, when we wait on him, he changes our pain into suffering and our suffering into meaning. Get that. He doesn’t do away with our pain and suffering, but he changes that pain and suffering into meaning. So, with any ordeal, with any cross, with any suffering, we are changed. And we can be changed for the better. In fact, we can be changed into the likeness of Christ. No soul drain. No soul drain, when you’re in that kind of relationship with the God who is mystery, but who is mystery present and personal. The God revealed in Jesus Christ, who extends the invitation – I am the vine, you are the branches, abide in me and I will abide in you, and you won’t have to be the victim of soul drain. That’s a pretty good invitation – a pretty good invitation. Will you accept it?