Bobsledding 101   

 

 

Isaiah 43:16-21

Phil 3:4b-14

John 12:1-8

 

            There’s a little tug of war going on in the readings today, between the opposite forces of memory and anticipation. Between looking behind and looking ahead. Between the “remember the time when” and the “I can’t wait until.”

 

            What brings back memories for you? Is that special present that you got on your birthday one year? Is it a special car, that shiny, sweet-running classic? That incredible family vacation? Your wedding day? Singing the liturgy out of the old red book--that old-time religion? Your favorite team finally winning the World Series or the Super Bowl? Taking first place at a music competition, or a blue ribbon at the State Fair? Sitting on Grandpa’s lap as he read you a story by the warm glow of a fireplace? Is it a vague memory of “the good old days” when everything was better and society wasn’t going to pot?

 

            What fills you with anticipation? The kids coming home for the holiday or on military leave? Opening day of a new fishing season? That delicious apple pie that is baking in the oven? Christmas Eve and all those presents under the tree and all the celebration to come? Getting your driver’s license? The cruise that’s coming up in a few months? A fishing trip to Canada? Getting out on your own and starting college in a town far from home? Tickets to a concert and a night out on the town? Retirement, not having to punch a clock ever again?

 

            Memories are precious, but today’s readings urge us to set them aside for a bit and focus on anticipation. 

 

             Hear the words of Isaiah: “`Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!’ Says the Lord. ‘Now it springs up. Do you not perceive it?’”

 

            In the Bible, we focus most on those themes that recur time and again.

            And we find that Isaiah isn’t an isolated, specialized case; Paul says almost exactly the same thing. He says, “Yes, I have a lot of great memories. Many accomplishments. You’re proud of what you have achieved? I’ve got as much to brag about as anyone. But let’s set that aside for awhile.

            “Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal, to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

 

            The Gospel reading is more subtle, but it sounds the same theme. It tells the story of Mary, the sister of Martha, who performed an extraordinary act. At a dinner given in Jesus’ honor, she took a pint of a rare, expensive perfume, probably worth hundreds of dollars, and poured in on Jesus feet, and wiped it with her hair.

 

            What does that story have to do with memory and anticipation?

 

            To illustrate that, I have to tell you a couple of stories. The first has to do with the Balloon Days 5k road race this past year. I used to be very passionate about running. I enjoyed the competition. I did it for enough years that I was conditioned to compete. Put me in a race situation, and I couldn’t help it.

            Before this Balloon race, I had been out of competitive running for quite a while. It had been 8 years since I’d been in any kind of organized run, probably 30 since I’d run a race that short. The running I was doing was just for exercise.

            The race was fun; brought back a lot of nostalgic feelings—stirred up great memories. I was pleased with how it was going, until the last half mile when I saw in front of me a girl who looked to be about middle school age. Like Pavlov’s dog, the old instincts kicked in. No way am I going to let little girl beat me. I’m going to reel her in if it kills me.

            Then suddenly, for maybe the first time in my running career, I experienced a moment of sanity. I thought, “You’re 53 years old. You’re well over your competitive race weight. You haven’t trained for this, and you’re not in real good shape.

            Sure, all ex-jocks like to hang on to the good old days of their youth, and pretend they’re still that person. But that life is in the past. Let it go before it does kill you. You run for a different reason now. You run so you’re healthy enough to do your job, to keep your weight manageable, to be fit enough to enjoy life. That’s the goal now. That’s what you need to focus on.” So I let her go.  

 

            The second story concerns bobsledding. For a few years, one of the highlights of winter in my family was the annual bobsled competition. I’ve never been on a real bobsled, and I probably never will. But what we did came about as close as amateurs can come.

            We gathered at my brother’s cabin, which was not winterized. Wall to wall sleeping bags. No running water, very little insulation—nothing but a wood stove to combat the February cold of a Northwest Wisconsin winter.

            The first day we spent constructing a course down the hill through the woods—hauling snow up or down the hill and packing it down. Often, the snow was dry and we had to cut a hole in the ice on the lake and haul water up to the course to make the snow wet enough to pack down. We had to make some rather large banks at the turns. One year, we set up torches all the way down the course, so that we could sled at night.

            The next day, the competition began. We timed each other as adults and kids sped down the winding course on our plastic sleds.

            One thing you learn very quickly if you are going to survive bobsledding. You don’t react to the course—you anticipate it. Going into the last monster curve down near the lake, you had to start lining up your approach well in advance. Your sled had to be in position before the turn. You had to shift your body weight and start leaning before you hit the curve.

            If you didn’t do that, you were in trouble. You would have to bail out and take a severe high-speed tumble on an icy course or else go flying off the bank into the trees. It was a lesson learned at the cost of sore tailbones, sprained thumbs, and assorted bumps and bruises. 

 

            A similar thing happens on canoe trips down a river. If you try to react to where the current is taking you, it can be a frustrating and exhausting trip. At any bend in the stream, or when coming upon any obstacle, you have to anticipate the current. Well before you reach the turn, you need to have your approach lined up correctly, and you need to start paddling against the current before you reach the bend. If you don’t, you’ll go sideways, wherever the current wants to take you—be it into the shore or into rocks.

 

            The incident with Mary and the perfume comes right after Jesus made his most powerful demonstration of his purpose in the world. The raising of Lazarus was his way of showing that his ministry was about to take a drastic turn. He had taught, he had healed, he had lived among us. But now that life was over. Now Jesus was turning toward Calvary where he was going to show the world how awesome and powerful the love of God is, that death is not the end of the road. 

 

            Jesus had been hinting at this for some time; and sometimes he had even said it straight out. The road to eternal life has to go to death and through death, before it comes out the other side. The big curve was coming up soon.

 

            But nobody seemed to be paying attention. The disciples didn’t see it coming. They didn’t want to think about it. They had a good thing going. They had a wonderful community of the faithful, they had a leader who was wise and compassionate beyond anything they could imagine. These were the good old days. Nobody wanted them to end. The disciples’ attitude was, let’s enjoy the moment and if something else comes up later to upset it, we will cross that bridge when we come to it. They were just along for the ride. Their philosophy “ignore it and it might go away.”

 

            Mary was the first person in all the Gospels who “got it.” She had been paying close attention to Jesus’ teachings. After some initial confusion in the Lazarus incident, she understood what Jesus was saying. She saw that the mission was at a turning point. She saw the terrifying curve ahead.

 

            Mary saw that the good old days were gone. There was no point in pretending everything could go back to the way it was. The calm waters, the easy glide down the hill were past.  It was time to get ready for what was coming. She didn’t want to wait until the moment hit and then find herself flying out of control into the trees.

 

            So rather than deny what was coming, as the disciples did, she anticipated it. She brought out expensive perfume, saved up for burial rites. And she put it on Jesus. A profound and ancient burial ritual. In preparing Jesus’ body for burial with all the honor and love and compassion she could muster, she showed Jesus that at least one person understands and is with you. One person is getting ready to deal with it.

 

            It sounds heartless to say we should ditch all memories. To say we have to let go of all the past. Does that mean we trash all traditions and all the shared history that we cherish? Everything that keeps us grounded in who we are--all the bonds of experience that bind us together?

 

            No. At our Winter Olympics, when each bobsled ride was over, there was much laughter and analysis. When the day’s competition was over, or months down the road at family gatherings, we could look back fondly on our time. We shared our memories, we laughed. That was the time for nostalgia and reflecting on what we had gone through.

            At the end of a harrowing rapids, when we hit a stretch of quiet, peaceful waters, or perhaps at night, sitting around a campfire, that was the time for nostalgia, to look back, to reminisce, to share what we had just experience.

 

            Yes, nostalgia has its place. But that place is during times of rest, not times of action. While we are actively involved in the work of the kingdom, while we’re moving, we anticipate, we keep our eyes on the road ahead.

 

            When tragedy strikes, when the reality of death looms—that’s not a good time to start sorting out where we are going spiritually. I don’t do heavy theology with people in those times. It’s really too late. If you have not prepared for them, grief and pain and fear are going to take you where they will, and you will exhaust yourself trying to paddle out of them. Often, the best we can do is hang on and provide comfort until the turbulence is over. Tragedy is best survived when we understand deep in our hearts what Christ’s love is all about; when we are lined up where we need to be spiritually before we hit the turn.             

 

            My mother has a form of dementia that has progressively taken its toll. When dealing with mom it is tempting to mourn the good old days, when she was a different person. But it doesn’t do any good. Those days are gone, and they aren’t coming back. The task that faces us now is to learn how to accept her as she is now and prepare for the way she will be. It’s a rough ride, but it’s even worse if we haven’t spiritually prepared for it.

            When we find quiet moments, we can share those memories of the good old days, of Mom as she was. Memories are for the quiet moments when we rest. They sustain when we need to take a break. But what our lessons today say to me is that when we are on the road, on the move, we anticipate. We look to the future.

 

            Church members are some of the most nostalgic people on earth. We are deeply touched by memories that shaped our faith. By the rituals and traditions that have forged bonds between us and between those who have gone before us. They keep us grounded  in the faith and connected with each other. And so we encourage shared memory, in those quiet times that we set aside for reflection and rest.

 

            What this means, however, is that, by definition, a church that is big on nostalgia is a church that isn’t going anywhere. Because if you’re going somewhere, your eyes have to be focused on the road ahead. You cannot cling to the past and let events and currents carry you where they will, because you will end up on the rocks or thrown out into the trees.

 

            Mary’s story shows us how to anticipate.

 

            I guess I’m full of stories and anecdotes today. The last one is about one of our close relatives. He is possibly the most anticipatory person I have ever met. When you tell him a story or a joke, he leans forward in his chair and he hangs on every word. His eyes sparkle and he has a grin on his face. He’s not waiting to see if you can make him laugh; he is so ready to respond that he’s doing all he can do to hold it back until you hit the punchline, and then he’s going to let loose.

 

             Imagine the people of God, the people of this congregation, leaning into the Word of God with that kind of anticipation. Spiritual aligned, and so ready to respond to what God is preparing for us that we’re doing all we can to hold it back until the time is right.

 

            “Do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” says the Lord. Lean into the curve, and feel the power that carries you through the turn and into the clear.