Remember Who You Are

Posted on Mon, Feb 22, 2010

Diane Eubanks Hill

Remember Who You Are!

Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Luke 4:1-13

Diane Eubanks Hill

Watts Street Baptist Church

February 21, 2010

 

I sat across the table from one of our long-time members.  “I want to tell you a story,” he said, “a story that explains, at least in part, my life-long interest in construction.”

 

And with those words, he captured my attention!  He went on to tell about an event that occurred when he was a young teen in the early 50’s, as his family traveled to CapeBreton on the far eastern tip of Nova Scotia.  At that time, Cape Breton Island was accessible from the mainland only by ferry, but construction of a causeway had begun.  The construction took years, because the water was deep and required seemingly endless huge truck-loads of rock to build up the causeway from the wide base at the bottom to the road-sized strip just above the surface.  His family was intrigued by this process, and had heard that on this very day a tremendous dynamite explosion was planned.  In fact, this was to be the largest explosion that had ever occurred outside of the military.  Hoping to witness this event, they watched the preparations and waited as long as they could.  They were about to leave when a man drove passed them, stopped and turned around.  The story teller’s father approached the man and inquired about the time of the explosion.  Pointing in the direction of the targeted hillside he responded:  “Now!”  And they turned to see the whole hillside move forward, and a few seconds later they heard the sound of the explosion and felt its power.

 

Our stories form us.  Some stories we like to retell again and again, and the family may gather ‘round and chuckle as we remember.  On birthdays of children we often retell the stories of their birth. Other stories we may keep tucked away in the far recesses of our memories because they are painful, or embarrassing, yet their power and effect on our lives is extraordinary. 

 

These are our individual stories and, in some cases, our family stories.  But we know that weaving all around and within our individual stories is God’s story, the story of God’s relationship with creation.  Because of God’s story, the individual stories of all of creation are connected. 

 

The Hebrew people have always taken seriously the recounting of the stories that form them as a people.  Their stories help them maintain balance.  In our Deuteronomy text the people of Israel are told to take time to remember, to look back on their wanderings, even at the point when they enter the Promised Land after their 40-year wilderness journey.  As they gave their first-fruits to the Lord, they were to retell their story:  A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous.” 

 

When this story is re-told, each member identifies with the story, from the oldest to the youngest.  “That’s me.  I’m part of that great nation.  I cried out to the Lord when the Egyptians afflicted me.  The Lord heard my voice, brought me out of Egypt, and here I am in that land offering my first fruits to God in Thanksgiving.”  (Adam Thomas, “Living by the Word:  Reflections on the Lectionary,” Christian Century, February 9, 2010, p. 19)

 

Moses was hoping that by re-telling their story as they enter the Promised Land, “they will “remember who they and are whose they are.”  (Thomas, p. 19)  He hoped that the retelling of their story would keep them faithful.  Unfortunately, this is not how it worked, and by the end of the book of Judges they were doing what was right in their own eye, a tricky practice, unless tempered by the eyes of faith and those of the community of faith.  The story is not remembered, the people get lost, and the result is agony and pain for all.

 

But the story continues by a thin thread, kept alive in the hearts of the faithful few.  Samuel learns how to listen to God, and to keep God’s story for his generation and those to come. Wandering in exile once again becomes their plight, and they cling to the memory of how God brought them out of their slavery to the Egyptians.  When we read the prophets, we read again and again the story of God’s relationship with creation, and finally the power of the story begins to change the people.

 

Our New Testament text tells another story with a similar theme.  Jesus is in the wilderness and is tempted by the devil to forget who he is.  Let’s look at the story again:  Two of the temptations thrown to Jesus specifically challenge who he is:  “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.”   “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here.”  Luke, in Chapter 1, has just informed us that the genealogy of Jesus runs through David, Jacob, Noah, Adam and the Creator, and that, at his baptism, a voice from heaven identified him as the Son, the Beloved.  That’s his story.  In his weakened condition, Jesus is tempted to forget his story and lose his connection to it.  In fact, the devil tries to twist his story, and use it to tempt Jesus, but “Jesus quotes the stories and claims his identity within them, standing his ground.” (Jennifer M. Ginn, “Story Time,” The Christian Century, February 24, 2004, p. 20.)

 

We all know many other examples of individuals and groups who forgot their stories and thereby forgot who they were.  Clearly, this is true of Southern Baptists.  In the 1600’s and 1700’s, people gave their lives for causes such as the priesthood of all believers and the right to read scripture and work out one’s own salvation.  When leaders of Southern Baptists began to dictate what people had to believe and do in order to be Baptist, they had lost track of their story and forgotten who they were.

 

Today we stand at the beginning of the wilderness of Lent.  If we’ve lost contact with our story, the wilderness ahead looks pretty bleak.  When we become disconnected with our story, we lose hope.  It’s tough to stand alone.

 

I have a hunch that our most dangerous temptation, during Lent and always, is to forget who we are.  Voices call to us from all around, asking us to be other than who God created us to be.  Many of us are tempted to be less than God created us to be.  Nelson Mandela, in his 1994 Inaugural Speech, spoke pointedly to this temptation:

 

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?  Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.  Your playing small doesn’t serve the world….We were born to make manifest the light and glory of God that is within us….And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

 

 Yes, the temptation to hold back and not be all God created us to be is very real for some among usl.  Others of us are tempted to try to be what others expect of us.  We may be tempted to try to earn God’s love and the love of those around us by doing whatever it takes to fit in.  We may be tempted to lose hope.

 

When we’ve lost connection with our story, and don’t know who we are, we’re in danger of forgetting who we are, of losing hope and losing our way.

 

I want to tell you a story, a story that explains in large part who you are and where you find hope.  God created you.  God knit you together in your mother’s womb.  We are, indeed, dust, and our lives here on earth are fragile, but we are holy dust, loved fiercely and faithfully by our Creator.  And whether your life here on earth has been filled with all sorts of wonderful gifts, and surrounded by generous unqualified love, or whether you life has been filled with one difficult challenge after another and with a scarcity of love, YOU ARE LOVED BY GOD. 

 

The story of creation and of God’s relationship with creation is one of persistent action on God’s part to stay in relation with that creation.  Not only did God keep on coming to the Hebrew children even when they turned away from God, time and time again, but God keeps on coming to you, inviting you to take part in the abundant life for which we were created.

 

And not only were you created to be in relationship with God, but you were created to live in community with these folks seated around you this morning.  As we enter the dessert of Lent, we do so with companions.  Our relationship with God is personal and individual, but it’s played out in community.  And the stories of this particular community of faith, the struggles and faithfulness of the members from the very start over 80 years ago, connect us all with God’s story and with each other.  Look around you.  These people, and those who’ve gone before, are given for support and for challenge and for hope.  And you are given to these others for support and for challenge and for hope.

 

Who are you?  You are God’s precious child, loved fiercely by a God who created you, and who will not let go.  As you enter the dessert of Lent, may you stay connected with God’s story and may you live as one who walks by faith in hope.  So may it be.  Amen.

 

 

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