Worship service on Palm Sunday, with Rev. Frank Clarkson preaching, “From Here to There,” with Clare Fortune-Lad and Bo Crowell.
Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light,
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.
When my way grows drear, precious Lord, linger near,
when my life is almost gone,
hear my cry, hear my call, hold my hand lest I fall;
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.
When the darkness appears and the night draws near,
and the day is past and gone,
at the river I stand, guide my feet, hold my hand;
take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.
That hymn, it was Martin Luther King Jr.’s favorite. And there’s a reason for that. He talked about it in sermon once, about a night when he felt tired and weak and worn. It was in the early days of the Montgomery Bus Boycott, and around midnight Dr. King received a threatening phone call. The caller said if he didn’t leave Montgomery Dr. King and his family would be killed. After this he couldn’t sleep, so he got up and went to the kitchen, warmed up some coffee and sat down at the table. Here’s part of what he said in that sermon:
“I started thinking about many things. I pulled back on the theology and philosophy that I had just studied in the universities, trying to give philosophical and theological reasons for the existence and the reality of sin and evil, but the answer didn’t quite come there. I sat there and thought about a beautiful little daughter who had just been born about a month earlier. We have four children now, but we only had one then. She was the darling of my life. I’d come in night after night and see that little gentle smile. And I sat at that table thinking about that little girl and thinking about the fact that she could be taken away from me any minute. And I started thinking about a dedicated, devoted, and loyal wife who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me, or I could be taken from her. And I got to the point that I couldn’t take it any longer; I was weak.
“Something said to me, you can’t call on Daddy now, he’s up in Atlanta a hundred and seventy-five miles away. You can’t even call on Mama now. You’ve got to call on that something in that person that your Daddy used to tell you about. That power that can make a way out of no way. And I discovered then that religion had to become real to me and I had to know God for myself. And I bowed down over that cup of coffee—I never will forget it. And oh yes, I prayed a prayer and I prayed out loud that night. I said, ‘Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right; I think the cause that we represent is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now; I’m faltering; I’m losing my courage. And I can’t let the people see me like this because if they see me weak and losing my courage, they will begin to get weak.’
“And it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me, ‘Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness, stand up for justice, stand up for truth. And lo I will be with you, even until the end of the world.’”
We are in this difficult and fearful time in our nation. We are each going to have moments when we are afraid for our lives and for the lives of those we love, moments when we fear for our world. I’m going to have those moments and you are going to have those moments. And what are we going to do, in the middle of those dark nights? What are we going to lean on, and take refuge in?
One thing I know is that you have to face you fear. You have to look it in the eye, and stare it down. Because if you run away from it, you give it even more power over you. A time like this calls you to ask yourself, “What do I have, in the face of of these trials and troubles? What can I lean on, when I am tired and weak and worn?
Here’s what I know. There is power and there is salvation in bowing down, in saying “Help me!” We live in a mysterious and creative universe, and when you cry out for help, the Spirit does respond, saying “Here I am” (Isaiah 58:9).
In our tradition we don’t think there’s just one way. We have this big tent, many paths approach. Which I hope helps you, and which I sense is a good spirituality for these days and our diverse, interconnected world. The danger in this is that if you dabble in too many things, and you don’t go deep in any of them, when a dark night comes, what do you have to lean on?
The good news is that hard times can help us to find those deep roots that will nourish and sustain us, can help to deepen our faith. Martin Luther King certainly found his dark night to be clarifying. It became plain who he was going to lean on. And here’s the truth—we each need something, someone, to lean on, to put our trust in.
Back when I was ordained to the ministry, this is what my friend Curtis said in the sermon. On that day, he looked at me and he said, Frank, even with your good training and your supportive family and all your gifts, “You are inadequate,” he said. “You simply do not possess everything you will need to be our minister. And you will know it before we will. The grace in this--what could seem like a negative--is that your own sense of inadequacy will keep you belonging to us, because you will need us as much as we need you. You are called to be a minister, not a messiah. Your own sense of inadequacy, of absence, will keep you on your knees, in a right posture before God, who is always More.”
Over the years these words have rung so true, and this has been my experience, time and again. Being pushed to my knees, where I ought to be, and finding strength and solace there.
Today is Palm Sunday, the start of the week that leads to Easter. Wednesday evening brings Passover, the great Jewish retelling of their liberation story. Each of these traditions teaches truths that our society, with its love of individualism and its delusion of self-sufficiency, seems to have forgotten. We have forgotten that our individual stories are part of a larger story. That life is not about escape from pain or suffering, but rather, passing courageously through it. That the only way to do this is with help: with companions along the way, soul-friends whom you love and trust, and also with that Presence, that Source, which is always More.
We have these deep spiritual resources, these stories of journeying toward the promised land, these reminders that even death is not the worst thing, that we are each mortal and we are going to die, and we don’t need to be afraid, because death is a part of life. And we have our Universalist faith, that we are all part of a great Love which will never let us go.
Please don’t hear this as encouragement to take any risks these days, or to be careless with the necessary precautions. We need you to stay safe, and be well, as best you can. Our nation and our world need all of us to do what we can to stop the spread of this virus, to do what we can to help and support those front line clinicians and other workers. And we need to be praying these days, because prayer does change things, and it certainly helps those who are doing the praying.
Even as we are physically apart, this week let’s be mindful that we are still journeying together in spirit. Let’s remember and reflect on the people of Israel, who were led out of slavery and into the wilderness and that long journey toward the promised land. Let’s remember the story in which Jesus and his friends journeyed to Jerusalem, where Jesus inspired people, in a time of oppression he made them feel empowered and free, and this scared the authorities, and so at the end of the week, they put him to death.
This week, let us take heart, my friends, and let us have faith; remembering that our forebears have traveled this journey before us. Let us trust that, as the old song puts it, “you’ll never walk alone.” In these difficult days, let us remember and hold fast to that faith, “that there is a better place, a promised land; that the winding way to that promise passes through the wilderness. That there is no way to get from here to there except by joining hands, marching together.”
We can’t physically join hands right now, but we can still journey together. We can keep the faith, and do our own work, and stay strong; walking together, now and always,
Amen.