You are called as Christ to go out your door and serve as Christ, and you will be changed, but you also go out with the grace and strength of Christ.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday in Lent, year A
Texts: Genesis 12:1-4a; Psalm 121; John 3:1-17

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Bilbo Baggins once said to his nephew, Frodo,

“It’s a dangerous business . . . going out your door. You step onto the road, and . . . there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”[1]

Nicodemus would agree. So would Sarah and Abraham. Once you step out of your door onto a journey there’s no knowing what might happen. What might change. What will challenge you, what dangers you might face.

But what they learned was that who you are journeying with matters most.

Nicodemus went out his door into the streets one evening.

He’d heard of Jesus, this rabbi who was doing astounding things that only could come from God. And yet Jesus hadn’t sought the permission or support of the religious leadership, and reportedly said things that seemed counter to God’s law. Nicodemus was a respected teacher, rabbi, leader of his people. He felt he had to investigate.

And Nicodemus, this respected teacher, rabbi, leader of his people, who knew the Scriptures better than most, found something in Jesus that radically shifted the ground on which he stood, the certainty with which he taught. It was a dangerous business for him to go out the door that night. And he was forever changed.

Sarah and Abraham also stepped out of their door into uncertainty.

This unknown God called to them, claimed to be the one, true God, and said, “I need you to go to another place that I will show you.” No destination named, just stop when I say stop.

Imagine those first days and nights, living in tents instead of a comfortable house, temporary corrals for the animals, missing the beloved extended family. This journey became the founding story of a people of God who were intended to bless the earth, and who did. But on the road surely Abraham had moments of wondering, “Did I really hear God’s voice?” It was a dangerous business for them to go out the door. And they were forever changed.

But Nicodemus wasn’t alone; he met with Jesus, God-with-us.

Abraham and Sarah started and continued and ended their journey with the God of the universe leading them.

There’s a prayer Lutherans in this country love, having had it in our worship books since 1958. Written by Eric Milner-White, dean of King’s College, Cambridge, for his 1941 compilation book “Daily Prayer,” it’s meant to reflect Sarah and Abraham’s days and nights on that road. It’s carved beautifully in wood in our north stairwell. You know it well. He prayed,

“O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us.”

It’s a dangerous business to go out your door. Unless you are accompanied by the God who loves, guides, and holds you.

This prayer so often seems to speak precisely to where we are.

It closes most annual meetings of this congregation and many of our Vestry meetings

In these challenging, frightening, troubling days, it remains the prayer we need. We know we’re called to go out our door and be Christ in the world. You know your faith isn’t just for your benefit, it’s your calling to bear God’s love however you can. Even if our whole society collapses, which some days seems more likely than not, you and I are called to be Christ’s light in that mess. When our neighbors are executed or torn from their homes, you and I are called to stand with them, to do what Jesus would do if he were here. When crises happen, you and I know we can’t sit back, but must be love and grace for those struggling.

It is a dangerous business to go out your door as Christ. But like Dean White, like Abraham and Sarah, like Nicodemus, you know this: the God who loves you beyond death is guiding you, walking with you, holding your hand in this journey. And that’s enough.

But you certainly will learn things on the road as these faithful ones did.

You will learn, like Sarah and Abraham, that while it’s often confusing and frightening to follow God’s call, if you take one step at a time, praying for understanding and courage, you can move forward.

You will learn, like Nicodemus, to let go of some cherished opinions and ways of thinking which don’t stand up to the wind of the Holy Spirit, who blows where she wills and invites you to an entirely new way of thinking and loving and being.

So much so, Jesus says it’s like she’s giving birth to you into a new life. A life where you see God’s love for the whole world as so powerful God came in person, not to judge but to save, and not just the chosen few but all who trust in that love. A birth into a life where following faithfully isn’t about having all the answers but about trusting the One who guides you and holds you by the hand.

All who follow God’s call are radically changed by it. But these three witness to the joy of that new life, that new birth, that journey in the heart and love of God.

God has called you, God’s own servant, to ventures of which you cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.

But God hasn’t left you alone to these perils, those paths, these ventures. You go out your door, knowing it’s a dangerous business, but also knowing each step of the way you are accompanied by the Triune God whose love made the universe and fills it, who unsleepingly watches over your going out and your coming in, as Psalm 121 reminds today, whose love knows you by name, who guides you and gives you the courage to be what God needs you to be in this world of pain and grief.

So always remember this lesser-known name for God: “Faithful Companion on the Journey.” And with God at your side, open your door. Go out. And rejoice where you and God will go, step by step.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

[1] J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring