Rev. Kevin M. Pleas

Psalm 63:1-8 October 7, 2007

Second Peter 1:16-21 October 14, 2007

For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, "This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased." We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain. So we have the prophetic message more fully confirmed. You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts. First of all you must understand this, that no prophecy of scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation, because no prophecy ever came by human will, but men and women moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God.

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I think I've probably told you this story before, but good stories bear repeating. When I was in the ninth grade I attended a Methodist youth camp that ended up being my first direct experience with evangelism. I was at a point in my life where things weren't going very well. My parents were building up to a divorce, so it wasn't much fun at home. Looking back, I remember being a moody and confused teenager who was forever asking deep questions about the meaning of life. Come to think of it, that part hasn't changed much. Anyway, going off to this camp for the weekend, I was probably about as vulnerable and lonely as I've ever been.

What I didn't realize was that the whole purpose of this camp was to save our young souls. Most everyone else seemed to be having a good time. There was a lot of singing and dancing, arts & crafts, Bible study and prayer. Little did I know it was all choreographed around opening us up to Jesus. But for me, there was something else going on. Right from the beginning I had trouble making friends or connecting with anyone: too moody and serious I guess. It was probably my first experience of being surrounded by people but still feeling completely cut off and isolated. By the last day of camp really began to get to me.

The whole rest of the camp seemed to be in ecstasy. Everywhere I looked people seemed to be "filled with the love of the Lord," but all I felt was miserable. Finally, in something approaching desperation, I went to the minister who was directing the camp, explained how I was feeling, and asked him what he thought I should do. Without missing a beat he said, "It's because you haven't accepted Jesus into your life." At that point something snapped. I said something to the effect of, "O.K. fine. I give. If that's what it takes, let's do it." Pretty ambivalent I guess, but the minister didn't seem to mind. He prayed over me and gave me to Jesus, then went on his merry way, after which I sat there with a very funny taste in my mouth. In my teenage idealism, I had come to think of myself as a person of high integrity. But this whole "conversion to Jesus" felt deeply hypocritical.

Still, I tried to enjoy it. For the last few hours of the camp I was able to put aside my doubts and join in with the crowd a little. Of course, once we had all been converted, the minister's closing message was crystal clear: "Now that you have received the grace of salvation, your job is to share your testimony and save others." Camp ended in a moment approaching rapture, and we all went off to spread the gospel. Personally, I went off trying to figure out what on earth had just happened. I had second thoughts all the way home.

I decided, though, that I had to at least try to share my newfound faith. The most obvious first choice was my current girlfriend, Laurie. I got her alone at church a few days later and began trying to tell her about the camp. Now, I'm not normally a "beat around the bush" kind of person. But that day I hemmed and hawed and stammered around for I don't know how long while Laurie tried to work out what I was getting at. What happened next is branded on my memory for all time. Suddenly, a look of comprehension washed over Laurie's face. She threw her hands into the air, laughed out loud and shouted, "YOU'VE BEEN SAVED!! HALLELUJAH!!" Thus ended my brief but illustrious career as an evangelist. The great irony of this whole story though, is that Laurie found Jesus herself a couple of months later, and after telling me she now had "higher things to do with her life," she dumped me. For the longest time I was convinced that Jesus had made a fool out of me and stolen my girlfriend. We weren't exactly on the best of terms.

But, to my chagrin, I couldn't quite let him go either. Jesus and I have had a stormy relationship but I finally managed to get over myself. Much as I was embarrassed by my conversion, there was something that hooked me that day that I've never quite gotten over. There is something about Jesus that keeps drawing me back. I would never have believed at the time that I would go on to be a minister, but more than thirty years later, here I am, serving the Lord in the best way I know how. I don't focus much on trying to save souls because honestly, I don't think that's the point. But I do care deeply about keeping the Spirit of Christ alive and helping whoever I can to deepen their relationship with the Divine.

That's my story, a bit of it anyway. It's my "testimony," in the language of our tradition. Diana Butler Bass tells us that testimony is one of the characteristics of vital churches. And we can understand why, can't we? Church would be pretty deadly if all we ever heard were readings from the Bible, hymns and prayers from aging service books, history long since grown old and dusty. Peter talks about being an eyewitness of the glory of God, of being on the mountaintop with Jesus when he was suffused with a blinding light. It's a great story, but it's also two thousand years old. And we can't just tell the old old stories, as much as we may love them. A living church community needs to be telling their own stories. We need to be constantly thinking about how the old stories connect to our present day lives. And for that to happen, we need to share with one another our own testimonies of how we have come to know God in our lives and what difference it has made.

And we do, sometimes. On Laity Sunday, a couple of weeks ago, we heard from Jim Bitner, Ann Cole and Wendy Wickenden about how they have witnessed the healing touch of God in their lives. We've heard from Ed Weber last week and Charlie Graham this morning about how meaningful their connection to this church has been. My friends, it is so important that we do this, because it doesn't become real until it becomes personal. I love hearing your stories, and I would love it if we could make this kind of sharing a more regular part of what we do together. You're accustomed to having me share my story with you, but what is your story? I know you all have them.

What are the experiences that have shaped your faith? Why are you here today? What connects you to this church and these people? For most of us, the times in our lives where we have encountered the Spirit of God - or felt the touch of the Devine, or been overwhelmed by awe, however you want to say it - are among the most meaningful and beautiful moments we've ever known. Do you know what a gift it is to share those moments with others? It empowers us to share our own stories.

Now, I realize this kind of sharing isn't the most natural thing in the world, especially for staid New Englanders. There is a wonderful story about my father-in-law. He was preaching one Sunday morning to his church in Hartford on the subject of witnessing and testimony. He said he knew that he was talking to a gathering of staid New Englanders. He said that if he had been preaching at an old tent meeting or Pentecostal gathering, that he would invite them all to come down that old sawdust trial and commit their lives to Jesus right there in front of God and everybody. But he knew that it was unlikely that a traditional New England congregation would respond to that kind of appeal. But he also knew that didn't mean they didn't love Jesus in their own way. And so he said, as he leaned out over the pulpit, "If you love Jesus, if you really love Jesus deep down in your heart ...Wiggle your toes!!"

Debbi Hitchings reminded me this week that we tend to think of our faith as deeply personal. We feel embarrassed even to be asked to pray out loud. There is a deep intimacy and vulnerability in prayer that we aren't used to putting on display for other people, and that's equally true of our faith stories. I understand that. I do. But isn't deepening the intimacy we share with one another part of what we're here for? Allowing ourselves to be appropriately vulnerable with one another encourages all of us to see and to share the ways that God is acting in our own lives. It's not enough to tell the old old story. The story of Jesus and his love has to become personal before it becomes real.

Diana Bass shares a wonderful, simple example of testimony in the story of Daniel.

Daniel, a fifty-something member of a progressive Episcopal church in California, was born to a fundamentalist family, rejected Christianity, became a Buddhist, and then returned to the Christian faith at that Episcopal congregation. He confessed to "having a horror of talking about my faith" after having grown up as a fundamentalist. "But," he said, "now I can't help myself. I go to work and colleagues ask, What did you do this weekend? And I start telling them about some fantastic sermon or liturgy at church on Sunday. I can't hold it in. I've just got to share.

My friends, even after all these years in ministry, I still feel that way. Heaven help me, I can't hold it in. I've just got to share. And that is such a special, such a privileged experience, that I don't want to keep it all to myself. I want you to have the chance to do the same thing. I want you to take advantage of some opportunity to share the deeply meaningful and personal experiences in your own life that have led you to and sustain you in faith. I dare to hope that my sharing encourages your sharing. For the sake of deepening our own experience of God's gracious presence in our lives, I dare to hope that we can get in the practice of vital testimony.

Amen.