God at the Lake
Jan 29, 2012 Ps 19
I’ve been looking for the perfect opportunity to share a particular story. I’ve been waiting for 6 months to tell it. I’ve been sure that along the way, in the course of preaching, there would be a spot where I’d need an illustration and this one would be absolutely perfect, so I’d be able to pull it out and pass it on.
But that hasn’t happened.
And I don’t want to wait any longer. So I’m not going to.
I’m just going to tell it, and let God shape the rest of this morning’s sermon around it.
July 17. My week begins, at Gull Lake Baptist Camp, with 6 of our church boys between the ages of 8 and 11, including my son Thomas. They are excited, of course. And so am I. This is our second year going to camp all together, and I know from my own years growing up, and our experience last year, that I’m going to see God at work, and I am going to like it. It is a perfect, central Alberta week. One day it is plus 34, and the word is all about hats and sunscreen and making each of your campers drink at least 3 glasses of water at lunch so they don’t get heat stroke at the beach in the afternoon, which is great except when you have a young assistant counselor who takes this a bit too seriously and so insists they all drink 3 glasses of water before heading to the food line. I’m not hungry. Pastor Steve, my stomach hurts. Can I go to the bathroom, again? Then the next day it is plus 12 and the evening thundershower turns the sky so black at 6 pm that the yard lights come on, and then the rain and the hail pour so hard that the banging and crashing and clapping on the roof and the windows drowns out the sound of the games leader, who is using a microphone hooked up to a good sound system and speakers. And even if we could have heard him, the sound of nature was far more majestic and worth listening to. It was the summer of the plagues. We were there during the massive infestation of mayflies, so many that the camp staff were literally vacuuming the walls and windows to suck them up. We would look up into the sky and see the massive cloud and hear the droning sound so strong we had to raise our voice to be heard over them. Tip: keep your mouth closed as you walk down the path.
The week has been great. Our boys laughing, getting along, including others, engaging in worship, and going straight to sleep when I turn out the lights. Honestly, and when the young, exhausted counselors from the other cabins saw my refreshed smiling face each morning and asked how on earth did you get them to go to sleep so quickly? I smiled and said that’s the good thing about being 40 years old and a father. Highlights were Gareth hitting the orge with the arrow, nerf wars in the lounge, dodge ball, and the creature from cabin 24.
Thursday, the last night, the night when each cabin sneaks out after lights out to go create some memorable moments, spontaneity we planned and scheduled on day 1. We are sneaking down to the beach, to build a fire, roast some s’mores, and make some memories. Our outdoor campfire ends, and I’m watching the sky and seeing signs of a storm, so we decide to head straight down to the lake a little early. But quietly. We don’t want the camp director to catch us sneaking out.
But first we have to fight our way through the mayflies. Heads down, mouths closed, and run. But not too fast. The path is full of deep sticky mud from the huge storm the day before. Halfway down, we stop in the middle of the path, between two swarms, and watch the bats scream across the sky, feasting on the flies.
And then we reach the beach. The bugs are behind us, and the lake is calm, but what we see is the sky. The prairie sky, miles and miles and miles of it, in every direction. We are looking west, across the lake, and the sky is alive. The storm is brewing across the lake. We can see the black, tall, thunderheads starting to blow together on the other side of the lake. Somewhere above our heads a swift wind is blowing thin clouds from south to north, and above them we see more and more bands of clouds, with streaks of dusky blue sky all the way through. But soon we hardly notice any of those, because of the sun. It hits that perfect spot in the sky where it starts to reflect off every cloud around us. The colors are so brilliant, so vibrant that eight 8 to12 year old boys go running to the edge of the water together and then come to a dead stop, and then they just stare. I am not exaggerating. Everywhere we looked, 360 degrees, the sky was slow-dancing with color. And then, across the lake the storm started to get more active, and the lightening started to flash vertical streaks, then horizontal, then flashes in the clouds that lit up the whole sky. The lightening started to dance, even more active than the colors and every time we saw the flash and heard the crash, all 11 of us cried out and pointed and jumped up and down, Did you see that? WOW! Surrounded by deep reds, burnt orange, wispy yellows of the sunset; with jet black clouds punctuated by huge streaks of lightening.
And I was in the middle of a group of city kids ambushed by the presence of God in the middle of His creation. And I felt their awe. A holy moment.
After a while, the crackling fire and marshmallows and chocolate and graham wafers lured most of them away from the sky, but one of them was rooted. My son wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tight, eyes captivated by the rolling clouds and the lightening and the color, and I stood next to him in silent prayer, just savoring the moment and the presence of the Holy Spirit of God. He tried to speak a few times, but felt the inadequacy of words as I do now trying to tell the story. About all that would come out were snatches of phrases; How, I mean, how, how could God create something so beautiful? How could, so amazing, it’s like I can touch it, I never ever want to forget this. God is so real.
You know those moments every Christian parent prays for, when God becomes real to their child and they respond? I got to be there. What an awesome privilege, what an overwhelming moment. I’m not a big crying kind of person, but I’m not at all ashamed to say there were tears on my face. And on my son’s because
Psalm 19 (NLT)
1 The heavens proclaim the glory of God.
The skies display his craftsmanship.
2 Day after day they continue to speak;
night after night they make him known.
3 They speak without a sound or word;
their voice is never heard.
4 Yet their message has gone throughout the earth,
and their words to all the world.
God has made a home in the heavens for the sun.
5 It bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding.
It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race.
6 The sun rises at one end of the heavens
and follows its course to the other end.
Nothing can hide from its heat.
7 The instructions of the LORD are perfect,
reviving the soul.
The decrees of the LORD are trustworthy,
making wise the simple.
8 The commandments of the LORD are right,
bringing joy to the heart.
The commands of the LORD are clear,
giving insight for living.
9 Reverence for the LORD is pure,
lasting forever.
The laws of the LORD are true;
each one is fair.
10 They are more desirable than gold,
even the finest gold.
They are sweeter than honey,
even honey dripping from the comb.
11 They are a warning to your servant,
a great reward for those who obey them.
12 How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart?
Cleanse me from these hidden faults.
13 Keep your servant from deliberate sins!
Don’t let them control me.
Then I will be free of guilt
and innocent of great sin.
14 May the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be pleasing to you,
O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.
What about you? Do you recall that moment, that time, that experience when God was real and you knew you were standing in His presence, with His glory around you, His intense gaze with laughter in His eyes meeting yours and lighting up, and you knew you were on holy ground?
The first four verses of the Psalm declare it is happening all the time. Day after day, night after night, they speak without a sound or word. God is not silent; the problem is we tend to be inattentive. God is speaking, all around, all the time, but we tend to be asleep.
Or else we are listening to louder sounds.
That night on the beach was Thursday, our last night. Friday we came home, and Friday night I went to bed fairly tired, so tired that I did not hear my cell phone ring just before 6 am. When I got up and noticed a message later in the morning, and pressed play, I heard Sharon Armstrong’s voice: Um, Hi Pastor Steve it’s Sharon. We are at the church, there is some kind of fire and there is smoke pouring out the back doors and there are a whole bunch of fire trucks here and it looks like the basement is full of water, umm, we don’t really know too much at the moment but thought we should call you and let you know.
The last six months have revolved around that event. It has affected every part of my work and life, every part of our shared life together as the people of God. All throughout, as I’ve talked with our project manager and engineers and contractors, I kept hearing the phrase, well, the worst case scenario would be; but that is highly unlikely. In fact, I’ve never actually seen that but it could happen. And then it did. My dream and my prayer about a month ago was that things would just stop getting worse. I’m still dreaming and praying that.
I have gone from that deep place of awe at the presence of God revealing Himself to 6 boys I’ve known and loved pretty much since birth, including my own son, on the beach at Gull Lake; to literally having the foundation torn out from underneath the church in which I pastor.
So what is God saying? Is He now silent?
Nope. He isn’t silent. Sometimes it is hard to hear, but that isn’t because God isn’t speaking, it is because I’m listening more to the jackhammers and the worst case scenarios than to the still small voice of God.
Would you like to know what I hear Him saying? It isn’t just for me. It is for all of us.
Fix your eyes on Jesus who for the joy set before him endured the cross. (Heb 12:2). Most of you are doing a better job at this than I am, and I thank you for that. I need it, please keep it up!
Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world. (John 16:33)
When troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. 3 For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. 4 So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. (James 1:2-4).
The heart of the message has been, in a bunch of different ways, the voice of Jesus saying Steve I am here. The building will get fixed and taken care of, don’t lose sight or get discouraged, don’t give up. And most important, don’t lose sight of what it means to be and to shape and to lead the People of God at Laurier Heights.
And I’ve tried, and I ask for your forgiveness when I have gotten bogged down and lost sight. I am trying to be a faithful steward, of our facility and of our relationships which are far more valuable. So I asked God, as I tried to take a step back this week and recapture the right perspective, what He might be saying to us. Here is what I think it is:
It is a time to come together in unity, strength, faith, and above all love. To reach out and wrap our arms around each other and support and encourage, to fill the gaps in ministries and relationships as some of us are forced to expend considerable energy on the physical issues we face. It is a time to be patient and forgiving. To keep Jesus at the center. To keep remembering that the church is not a building, it is the people of God. To, as much as possible (and as many are already doing well), ignore the facility issues and just be the people of God together, existing to worship God and serve our world. To put love first.
I really believe God gives us the mountain top or in my case, the lakeside experiences so that we have those things to cling to when the foundations crumble. When you face the difficult medical appointment, when in conflict with a loved one, when looking with a broken heart after your child who has not yet, to your knowledge, met God on the mountain even though you’ve prayed and prayed and prayed.
Then, I believe, God says I am here. I am with you always. I will not leave you nor forsake you. I was there on the mountain or by the lakeside, I am here in the valley, in the blackest hour of the night, and even at the graveside.
Yes, even at the graveside. You know, the one Jesus already went through, already experienced, already defeated, already emerged from in victory and power and hope and because of love. Yes, even there, Jesus says, I am with you always.
It was time to leave the beach and head back to the cabin for the night. One boy, Jason Radke, was running ahead. It was past dusk, hard to see, and he was delighting in trying to spot and jump the puddles and miss the mud. Sometimes he even made it. Then he stopped and looked back at me, a few feet behind him, and with a huge grin on his face said the words that summed it all up: Life is awesome!
He is right you know. It is. On the mountain and in the struggles. Because God is in the middle of it all. Day after day, night after night.
and so
May the words of my mouth, every word, every day, every moment
and the meditation of my heart, every meditation, every day, every moment
be pleasing to you,
O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.
