Sermon

A Way in the Wilderness
A Sermon by the Rev. Ron Parker
February 23, 2003 - Seventh Sunday after Epiphany (Scout Sunday)
Isaiah 43:18-25; Mark 2:1-12  [Sermon Index]

I want to welcome all of our visitors who are here to celebrate Scout Sunday
and share a word with those who might be unfamiliar with our ways of
worship. The Bible readings that we read today were not chosen by us for
this particular occasion, but are part of a three-year cycle of readings
followed by many different denominations. We are not required to follow
this cycle, but many of us do as a matter of unity and discipline.

Of course there are other ways that I might have chosen the readings for
today. I might have thought, "What is an appropriate text for Scout
Sunday?" Or I might have devised a message and then looked for some
scripture to support it. This would all be very much under my control.

On the other hand, I might have done what Methodist founder John Wesley is
said to have done when he needed and answer to some question and opened the
Bible at random, choosing the words where my finger fell, whatever they
were. Actually if I were going to follow that technique to its logical
conclusion, I would have to flip through all of the scriptures of all the
world's religions in some random manner – maybe with a computer program.

As it is, I have a somewhat structured selection of texts, which I did not
choose, but through which I am to try to find my way, and then, because I
have been given the role of guide for these few moments, to help all of us
find our way.

So I start out on my way through the Old Testament reading from the book of
Isaiah, and before I have gone far I come to Isaiah speaking these words on
behalf of God:

"I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness...."

Aha! I say. Scout Sunday. A way in the wilderness.

Much of what I know about the ways of the wilderness – about making my way
in the wilderness – I first learned as a Boy Scout in a rural area on the
edge of some modest wilderness. And over the years, I have felt a need to
spend a significant amount of time in the most remote wildernesses I could
find.

"Wilderness" and "civilized" are often seen as opposites.

So now I have to ask myself, do I like the wilderness because I am
uncivilized? Maybe. We have several civic leaders here today whose job it
is to make our city more civilized, less of a wilderness. That's what we
elected them for.

So what is a wilderness guy like me doing living in Berkeley? A very
civilized place in spite of its reputation.

I think about these things.

And when I really think about them, I think that what I need to know to live
in the wilderness and what I need to know to live in Berkeley are not so
different.

Some of us will read Isaiah saying, "I will make a way in the wilderness,"
and think of a freeway in the wilderness. A freeway is a way of
obliterating wilderness. There are no scouting merit badges for freeway
building...yet.

I think we're talking about a different kind of way in the wilderness. It's
more like what we do when we are finding our way in the wilderness – a way
that already exists. Our way in the wilderness does not obliterate the
wilderness, but finds an appropriate relationship with wilderness. I don't
have to tell any of you scouts and scout leaders about that.

Last Thursday afternoon, right while I was thinking about what I might say
about wilderness and our relationship to it. Ruth and I went for a hike
across the dunes at Bodega Bay and out to the very top of Bodega Head where
the wind was blowing so hard we could barely stand up. On our way back, it
was starting to get dark so we decided to cut down through a little gully
that would lead us back to the road. I'd done this many times before by
following the deer trails down the steep ravine. But deer have a way of
winding back and forth down the steep banks that sometimes seems a little
tedious. So on Thursday Ruth and I thought we might get back to the
civilized road a little quicker by cutting straight down the steep bank.
There was no deer trail there, but it looked shorter. Before long we
learned why there was no deer trail there. We were completely entangled in
a shoulder-high wilderness blackberry bushes and stinging nettles and there
was no good way back.

By the time we had made our way through this little wilderness, we were
pretty much covered with blackberry scratches and stinging nettle welts.
And just in case we hadn't gotten the lesson, the itching and burning stayed
around for about twenty four hours.

Making a way in the wilderness is better accomplished by finding a way in
the wilderness and following it. My idea was a straight line down the steep
side of the dune. The deer trails wound their way down the wash and skirted
the thorns and the nettles.

There was already a way through this little wilderness. The deer had made
it. I might even go so far as to say that God had provided it. Where I got
in trouble was when I decided to make my own way in this wilderness.

Now all of you Scouts and Scout leaders are out there rightfully chuckling
at my folly. I should have known better. You are right.

I had forgotten an important distinction – the distinction between finding a
way in the wilderness and making a way in the wilderness.

Notice that that text from the book of Isaiah didn't say, "I will give you
the power and the resources to make whatever way you want in the
wilderness." God said, "I will make a way...." And in my experience, the
ways God makes are never straight lines with five lanes in each direction.
In fact, those who find themselves sitting on Interstate 80 at 4:30 on a
Friday afternoon, are more likely to feel like they are in some kind of hell
than on God's highway.

What I take this to mean is that there already is a way through whatever
wilderness we encounter. It just may not fit our preconception of the
shortest distance between two points.

God does not create in straight lines. Straight lines are a human
construction.

A relationship with another person is a wilderness as well. Sometimes we
try to manage a relationship by controlling the other person, by shutting
off or cutting down or damming up or killing off. We want them to
"straighten up."

But wilderness exists in virtue of relationship, not control Relationships
are built on respect rather than manipulation. Relationships are like those
winding deer trails down the side of the dunes. If we try to make them go
in a straight line we find ourselves in a tangle of thorns and stinging
nettles.

Civil solutions tend toward straight lines. We take pleasure in the winding
streets of the Berkeley hills, but it sure would be simpler if they were all
straight.

I live a couple of blocks from the Hayward Fault on something called the
"Spruce Slide." In spite of years trying to civilize our streets and houses
into straight lines, the curves of wilderness keep asserting themselves. We
cannot stop them. We have to learn to live with them, to ride their
currents.

I'm sure that many of those who are charged with developing U.S. foreign
policy think of the Middle East as a wilderness. It is beyond our control.
(Have I mentioned before that the word "wilderness" comes from the same root
as the word "bewildered?" )

The situation in the Middle East is bewildering. There is no straight
freeway from here to the solution of long-standing conflicts. Yet our
current policy seems set on a straight-line solution. We will either march
straight across Iraq and get it in line or we will bomb it flat. Then maybe
it will be "civilized."

Maybe you're beginning to see where I am headed here: Civilization is
doomed to failure without wilderness principles.

Totalitarian governments of both the left and right try to make
straight-line solutions without regard to the terrain of the populous. They
are inevitably defeated by a tangle of brambles and stinging nettles. The
shortcuts almost never are.

The best and most lasting civil solutions are built on relationships not
control. They follow the terrain and respect the land. They don't
sacrifice one part on behalf of another.

So one of the most valuable lessons of Scouting is learning to bend yourself
to live in relationship to the curves of natural terrains – not just so you
know how to live in the wilderness, but so you know how to live gracefully
in the complexity of civil society.

Now lest I leave you with any confusion, living in relationship with either
the land or the society is not just a matter of going with the flow. The
flow of a wild river can lead to disaster, just as the flow of a society
can.

That's why we also create rules and laws. The best rules and laws are not
about uniformity and straight lines but about enhancing relationships.
Think of the Scout Law for example.

A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient,
cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.

Those are good ways to find our way either in the winding paths of the
wilderness or the confusing ways of the city.

Epworth United Methodist Church, Berkeley, CA

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