From The Pastor Page

Sustainer of Life

First Denver Friends Church

Pastor Chuck Orwiler

9-5-04

Yesterday morning I sat alone on the deck of the dining hall at Quaker Ridge Camp. I turned a picnic table so I could lean against the building and have a direct view of Pikes Peak rising beyond the pine-shrouded ridge leading up to Soldier’s Mountain on my left. The Peak was hidden in clouds that were slowly lifting as the overcast sky gradually brightened. Fresh snow had accumulated in the crevasses below the summit, which remained in the clouds.

The overcast sky above was beginning to draw my interest. The high overcast was an undulating background of ever-brighter shades of gray. In the foreground were lower, darker clouds of subtle, graceful, imperceptibly changing shapes. If I ignored the pines immediately before me, it was like looking at a massive Ansel Adams landscape photograph: a study in shapes and contrasts all in hues of gray.

I am really into these foreground clouds now, which are thin and wind-stretched, except for the one that is piling up on the peak. Windblown as they appear to be, for the life of me I cannot see one move. Yet, each time I look away to write these words, when I look up they have shifted. So, I sit staring at them for a while, determined to catch the surreptitious cloudsters in the act of changing places. Nobody moves. I lower my eyes to write the last couple of sentences. When I look up, the peak is more deeply covered, and the thin clouds have disappeared altogether. Those rascals! I glance back down at my paper for a moment, and then quickly look up again to see if I can fool them into revealing their tricky ways. No luck.

I give up on the clouds, and leave them to their wonderful business. The east ridge of Pikes Peak now has my attention. The ridge stands in sharp relief. My aging vision always seems to improve in the mountains. The mountain’s strong shoulder is hardly smooth and muscular. It is a broken staircase of shards and towers that I imagine to be an uninviting route to walk.

Now I can no longer ignore the green foreground spanning the miles to the mountain before me: pines and aspen trees, for the most part, with an occasional Douglas fir raising his head above the crowd. The nearest pine is close enough to count the needles on its branches. While I am pretending to count pine needles, a lovely Ebert’s squirrel is making its way to the end of a branch. The little fellow hops about on limber branches waving under his weight. He is sampling the cones nesting out on the branch tips. He finally finds one to his satisfaction. Out of sight now, I can hear him crunching away.

So that is the scene before me: shades of green rolling to the Peak, interrupted by a single golden aspen branch. The peak itself is now illuminated by the ever-brightening, overcast sky – subdued majesty. The clouds have realigned themselves and are strengthening their numbers. I’m getting hungry listening to Ebert munch. It is a glorious morning.

Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. Yes, I have heard that, and there is no doubting the hand of the everlasting God this morning. (The clouds behind the peak are now forming formidable ranks. Nevertheless, direct sunlight dapples the peak itself. It is red and rugged.) This morning with the glory of His creation full in my face, in a building that I don’t have to maintain, without a do-list calling my name, the everlasting God, Creator of the ends of the earth is on the forefront of my mind. I’ll not need to be reminded today that God is God.

Tomorrow may be a different story. Tomorrow, I will be looking at crisscrossed power lines in my backyard rather than purple mountain’s majesty. (The summit is clear, and the peak is now in full view.) Tomorrow I will be listening to problems that need solving, rather than hearing Ebert crunch his breakfast. And tomorrow some human heartache may predominate the foreground of my view and memories of undulating greens of pine and aspen will be shuffled to the back of the mental filing cabinet. Will I remember then, that the Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth? That is the question. He does not grow tired or weary, but I surely do. His understanding no one can fathom, but my understanding is hardly ankle deep.

Like the psalmist, I look to the mountain and see the face of God. I see the One who has endured more lifetimes and personal crises than I can imagine. I see the One Who was there before I was, Who is there for me now, and Who will be there for my children and grandchildren. I see the One who stands steadfast and grows no more tired than a rock. Although unlike the rock, He knows, He cares, and His knowing and caring are everlasting.

When I gaze up on Him I see a little clearer than when my vision is crowded with the details within arm’s reach. Their apparent urgency clamors for my attention, and I fill my time attending to the clamor. That is what I want to do, and I am glad for the usually satisfied weariness at the end of a day of doing so. Oddly, God doesn’t clamor. Like Pikes Peak, His beauty and majesty take my breath away when I have the eyes to see. But He simply does not demand my interest. He is merely the One Who is, silently, most worthy of my attention, whether or not He has it at the moment.

Not that God expects me to be immobilized in contemplation of His wonderfulness. Rather, He is to be the reference point from which I measure life. He is to be the wellspring that nourishes my soul like no one else. Above all, He alone is the sustainer of Life.

I live, but I cannot give life, any more than I can raise Pikes Peak from the dust of the plains. Therefore, I do grow weary. I can be overwhelmed. I can be confused, or disappointed, or angry because I do not understand. And that is as it ought to be. We live and do not do so passively, like a pine tree. Instead, we pour ourselves into life by caring and working and learning and helping and celebrating and mourning. We live, but we do not sustain life. We are the sustainees, not the Sustainer, and we forget that. We somehow think we should not grow tired or weary. We assume we should understand. Really? Isaiah has it right when he asks,

Do you not know?

Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

The Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

And his understanding no one can fathom.

He gives strength to the weary

And increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,

And young men stumble and fall;

But those who hope in the Lord

Will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

They will run and not grow weary,

They will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:28-31

When I am weary, and somehow think I shouldn’t be: I need someone to ask me, “Do you not know? It is the Lord Who is the everlasting God. He does not grow tired or weary. You, however, are neither God nor everlasting.” Or, when I am faced with a dilemma that I cannot figure out. I need a friend to kindly remind me, “Haven’t you heard? It is the Lord Who is the Creator of the ends of the earth. His understanding no one can fathom, which can hardly be said of you or me.” It is okay to just be one of God’s humble creatures.

I have begun a sermon series entitled, “Homeward Bound.” We began last week by considering the day when God would set everything right, as described by Isaiah. Isaiah gives us a number of descriptions of the city of God where justice, peace, plenty, and righteousness prevail. His visions of hope ring right and true in our hearts. I so like Frederick Buechner’s words of hope that I shared before, “no matter how much the world shatters us to pieces, we carry within us a vision of wholeness that we sense is our true home that beckons us.” (Beuchner, Mustard Seed vs. McWorld, p.184)

Well said. It is that home where everything is set right - that hope-inspiring day of the Lord rooted in earth and blossoming in heaven – to which we are homeward bound. On the way we require strength for the journey. Good news: It is at hand.