APRIL 10, 2005 PASTOR SCOTT FULLER
Let’s walk. Coming from her, it was music to my ears. The night was crystal clear and filled with billions of stars. Even the aurora was doing a green crawl across the sky as if to celebrate the creative genius of God. It was cool enough just being with a girl I really liked, and then our “date” promised to last a little longer. After the movie, she suggested that we not call my sister to give us a ride home. Instead she said, Let’s walk.
We oohed and aahed at the light show above us. It seemed like we were looking at heaven and I certainly felt like I was in heaven. Walking side by side with a pretty girl, too scared to hold her hand, my blood was rushing with all the passion of an inexperienced, never-been-kissed, 9th grade Montana boy. As we walked, we talked about everything…and nothing.
I didn’t want it to end, but my curfew was looming, plus I had to hoof it from her South side home to ours on the North edge of town. I wasn’t a complete idiot when I said goodnight. I didn’t reach out to shake her hand in thanks for a pleasant evening. But neither was I cool enough to conquer my fear and risk my first kiss. I did, however, feel like my heart was burning with a sense that everything in God’s good world was very right.
Let’s go for a walk. This time it was my idea. It was a beautiful fall afternoon in the Minnesota town where I was a Youth Director. The red maples, yellow birches and orange oaks stood out against the green pines in a breath-taking symphony of color. It was cool enough just being with the woman I loved, but I had plans to extend our relationship far beyond the two years we’d been dating.
Carolyn had driven over that beautiful Sunday morning from the town where she was a teacher. And after worship, I treated her to a gourmet meal…of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Then I said, Let’s go for a walk.
We oohed and aahed at the colors around us. It seemed like we could see heaven and I certainly felt like I was in heaven. The clatter of the leaves that fell through the branches and the crunch of those under our feet joined in a sort of arboreal applause to the goodness of God.
Walking side by side with the prettiest woman I knew, not too scared to hold her hand, my blood was rushing with all the passion of a never-before-proposed, recently-graduated-from-college, Montana boy. As we walked, we talked about everything…and nothing.
I didn’t want it to end, but the weekend was coming to a close. I wasn’t a complete idiot when it was time to say good-bye. I didn’t reach out to shake her hand in thanks for a pleasant day. Instead I was able to conquer my fear, kneel down beside her and ask her…to marry me. She gave me a kiss, which was not my first, and said yes. I think it’s safe to say that our hearts were burning with love for each other, with hope for the future, and with thanksgiving to God.
Let’s walk. The grandparents lived just a few blocks from the cemetery. It sat about a hundred yards back from the main street, and the access road was now mud from the recent days of rain. Their grandson’s gravestone, finally finished and recently installed, was ready to be semi-officially recognized. This etched granite marker bore the boy’s name, the dates of his all-too-short lifespan, and a few of his favorite images like a dinosaur, a balloon and an angel. He was a victim of leukemia at the tender age of five.
It really is a beautiful place. Though the front vacant lot is full of weeds and felled trees, the access road opens up into a northern version of the Garden of Eden. The borders are lined with Rhododendron bushes. Towering trees are scattered majestically throughout the property. The grass is lush and green. The breeze that whispers through the branches is almost a word of welcome from the still, small voice of God.
Let’s walk, they said, We do this every day. We chuckled as we maneuvered big puddles and tiptoed around muddy spots. We oohed and aahed at the serenity of the cemetery and the beauty of its grounds. It almost seemed like the gravesite at the base of a tree was being guarded by that sentinel spruce that stretched to the sky. I tell God that I’m mad at him right now when I’m out here alone, says the grandmother with more than a little fire in her eyes from the grief that she feels.
That’s O.K., God seems to say in the sibilant song of the breeze through the trees. And then, with a gust of wind, God seems to send us off with a blessing, saying, I understand all too well the pain that burns in your hearts.
Let’s walk. The two disciples, heading to Emmaus, had a three-hour journey ahead of them. We don’t know if they were running from the threat of the mob, escaping the noise of the city or if they had family concerns in the village. But there they were, walking and talking about the trials of the weekend…the strange news of the day. From Jesus’ arrest to his death to the stories they’d just heard of his empty tomb, first from the women and then from the men, they still didn’t know what to believe.
They were sad. They were angry. They felt bewildered and betrayed. They poured out their hearts to this ignorant stranger as their feet carried them along that dusty road. They shouted and argued, they were silent and wept, as they walked, they talked about the events of those three terrible days.
With their energy spent and their voices weary, the stranger shook his head and then began to speak. He took their shouts of anger, their tears of sadness, their curses of betrayal and their pain of grief. He took their birth stories, their learning stories, their times of doubt, their journeys of faith.
He took every single strand of life, theirs and the world’s, especially those with ends that were frayed, then with his words he began to weave and knit and stitch and sew them all together…into the greatest story ever told.
Our culture doesn’t encourage us to spend much time walking and talking. A recent study confirms that the average American, child or adult, spends over six hours every day “under the influence” of some kind of electronic distraction. Another asserts that parents spend an average of 3½ minutes per week talking with (not at!) their children (http://pc.gamezone.com/ news/ 08_05_04_11_56AM.htm).
There are many good reasons why we should be walking and talking. It’s healthy for our bodies: hearts, muscles and bones. It’s a great time to clear the mind: to work through the issues of the day. It can be a true blessing for the soul: to pray and think about God’s will for life. It can bless our relationships: with spouses, children, colleagues, friends.
I can’t promise that the risen Christ will appear in bodily form and make your hearts burn with God’s wisdom about Scripture, life and love. But I can promise that the risen Christ will be with you on every walk, will listen to you on every walk, will bless you on every walk, and will lead you on your walk through life, through the distractions of this world, through even and especially the valley of the shadow of death. I think that the Lord is calling us to spend less time watching and gawking, and more time walking and talking. Amen.