No Expectations

“No Expectations?”
The Rev. Dr. Fred G. Garry

Luke 1.67-80
Then his father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke this prophecy:
‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty savior for us
in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.
Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors,
and has remembered his holy covenant,
the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham,
to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies,
might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness
before him all our days.
And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people
by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.’
The child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day he appeared publicly to Israel.

I was the president of the local Rotary club a few years back. Fun group. Each week we would lunch and listen to a speaker from different parts of industry, all sorts of folk. Before the speaker there was a buffet, chit chat, and then, if you were lucky someone made a joke and then back to the office. Being the president meant you introduced people, made announcements, and offered a closing remark, usually the four-way test.

This was a large club, so we had a secretary, paid staff, took care of all the details, the handing out of badges, raffle tickets. She counted the money. When I became president, I pulled Marcia the secretary aside and said, "I just want you to know ahead of time that when I am the president, I will never come prepared, never really know what is going on, and I won't worry about it." Marcia just laughed and kept going.

Two months later Marcia pulled me aside. She said, "when told me that you will never come prepared, never really know what is going on, and won't worry about it, I thought you were joking. But you weren't." I smiled and said, "nope," and kept going.

Part of my lack of concern is that running meetings and public speaking is something I do on a regular basis, such familiarity makes a Rotary meeting not worth worrying about. What might give others pause just doesn't need concern. The other reason is more of a principle than a practice. In principle I find worry to be an absolute waste of time. Jesus said, "don't worry." I believe him. I am with Jesus.

This is not to chastise folks who worry. Nothing gives the anxious more anxiety than someone who says, "don't worry." No. But I will offer Marcia's assessment, which she gave by the end of the year. She learned to find me before the meeting got started and give me a head's up if there was something beyond the script, something that might need attention. She could see we didn’t need to worry. Other than a rare moment, we both enjoyed our lunch.

Some people confuse being prepared with worrying. Right? Especially the people who are "worst-case-scenario" planners. Let's talk worst case scenario. Having seen, lived a couple worst case scenarios I am convinced worrying about them would not have changed anything. Part of something being the worst is you can't really imagine it before you live it; and after living it you just want to forget it.

When I think of worst-case scenario, I think of a fella named Paul. He was CFO of a hospital. Walked with swagger and when he smiled you got a sense that someone somewhere was hurting. Liked to be the smartest guy in the room. There was always condescension in his voice. One day as I walking to the hospital, I spied him walking out. It was a sunny summer day, a Friday, about 200 in the afternoon. I remember each detail of this moment as if it were yesterday. I watched Paul pull off his tie and open the top button of his starched white shirt. He was smiling and I remember thinking: this was the first time I ever saw Paul smile and there nothing but happiness, nothing cruel.

Paul was heading home to go for a bike ride. He was a cyclist, big cyclist. I know this detail because later that day on his ride, Paul was in the flow. He was flying down the road, enjoying the sun and wind and cool June air. He was enjoying his ride so much he failed to see a UPS truck parked in the road to make a delivery. Paul hit the back of the truck head on at full speed.

He suffered a severe head injury, but he recovered his cognitive abilities and returned to work after his convalescence. When he returned, he was in a wheelchair. The crash damaged his spine; he no longer had feeling in or use of his legs.

Now this story would be a Hallmark tale if the arrogant guy became a saint, the man of swagger became a humble servant to people who suffer. But that was not what happened. The crash certainly changed him, but not like that. Paul was still Paul. For those who love him, this was good news.

No. This is not a syrupy story.

Paul for me is the image of a worst-case scenario. What could go wrong if you went for bike ride? Well, let me tell you about Paul. One minute he was filled with joy, striding across the street on a summer's day feeling free, the next day he was spending months in painful rehab and struggling to come to terms with a profound loss of mobility. No warning, no worry, no preparations could have ever readied Paul for the day he hit the back of a UPS truck. Worst case scenarios seem to come withoudt preparation.

Our lesson today, the poem/prophecy of Zechariah, what his son would be and what the Messiah would be, is a best-case scenario. You know, what if everything worked out and there was happiness like John Prine singing, we "end up sitting on the end of rainbow? The Messiah is coming and those living in darkness will see a great light, those who are hated and oppressed will be free, rescued to live without fear. We will know salvation, mercy and remembrance.

Zechariah's poem is what is best in life. And what is more, it is a fulfillment of ancient promise, eternal promise. God is going to do this.

And then Zechariah shifts gears and turns to his own child and says, you, child, you will prepare the people for this; you will show them the tender mercy of God, the tender mercy of the dawn that breaks from on high upon those who sit in the shadow of death. You, child, will do this.

No pressure here. No worries. This child will do great things. We can count on it.

It's easy to get lost in the beauty of this poem and not pause to wonder, what sort of declaration is this, to speak of a newborn child this way? Expectations are the path of disappointment and regret. Can you imagine growing up with this level of expectation. How do you prepare a child to prepare a people for anything let alone the dawn of light upon those who live in despair?

Some might suggest it was this level of expectation that kept John in the desert eating bugs and honey and wearing animal skins with a leather belt and baptizing people in muddy water. Being this was John the Baptist we can gloss over the extremes and bizarre quality of his life, what it would look like for him to "prepare ye the way of the Lord." He's John the Baptist, what would you expect? Well, at the very least not the bug part. And we need to remember, Jesus was not what John expected. Jesus didn't match what he expected to come from his preparations. From prison John sent word to Jesus, are you the Messiah or should we expect another.

Before we went to seminary Kathy made me promise I would not be a pastor. Sounds strange, but it was fine with me. I went there to study theology, ancient philosophy and whatever else could fuel my imagination. And I did. I steered clear of all the practical courses, all the classes you should take to prepare you to be a pastor. I studied four languages and spent my time in the sixteenth century and hung out with medieval mystics. It was not a very practical training.

When we came to see what a life in academics would mean to our marriage and our children, she was the one who said, I believe you are supposed to be a pastor now. In that simple moment our lives changed for the better, became something wonderful. And what is more, having no preparation, no real training for parish ministry, this saved me. Having no preparation was the best preparation.

It sounds strange, but it's true. When I arrived at our first parish, I knew two things: I had no idea what to do and I had no expectations of how things were supposed to be. That's all I knew, nothing and no expectations. I am not sure what effect being honest about this had on folks, but I was. I didn't try to fake it, or pretend I knew something I didn't. I spoke to them the same way I did with Marcia. I am not sure what to do or what we need to do. If you know, tell me; if you don't, let's figure it out together. Turns out that is a healthy way to live in ministry. It's not perfect, but you do laugh more.

When I think of John the Baptist and preparing the way of the lord, preparing them with tender mercy, I don't think of bugs and leather or honey in the desert. When I think of such preparations, the place I go is the Land of "Make Believe." I go to Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. May sound strange, but if you asked me, what is the most profound example of tender mercy you have ever seen, I’d say two moments, both provided by Mr. Rogers.

The first image of tender mercy was in every episode, something that happened just after his song, won't you be my neighbor; hello neighbor. After he finished the song, he changed his shoes. He put on his sneakers and tied the laces. When I think of small fingers trying to tie a bow, I see fumbles, mistakes, failed attempts, the concentration and elusive knot. Mr. Rogers tying his sneakers to me is the most beautiful moment of tender mercy. It was as if he said, "see, it's not hard. Watch me. I learned just like you. You'll get it." Tender mercy.

To be prepared for salvation you need a heart ready to be redeemed, a heart that can hold onto tender mercy and not crush it or be careless. Mostly though you need to trust you will be remembered.

Fred Rogers gave such a moment, such a beautiful moment of remembrance. I carry it with me always.

After his career was done, folks held a big night for him to celebrate all he accomplished, which was a lot. He was seated in the front row of a big auditorium filled to the gills. Many folks came out on the stage to offer him praise. Fred Rogers sat and listened and smiled. Some folks were colleagues, some were people he had on his show. Near the end of the evening a man was being introduced who was on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood as a young boy. Before his name was spoken, as he emerged from behind the curtain, Fred Rogers leapt from his seat and rushed the stage. He ran to the man in the wheelchair, the man he met as a boy in a wheelchair many years before. He rushed to him and threw his arms around him and wept tears of joy.

For me that is the most tender moment of mercy I have seen. To witness such unbridled, uncontrollable delight and love and happiness, to rush to a dear friend, it's a light that shines in the darkness and rescues us who sit in the shadow of death. To be so remembered.

You can't prepare for the worst. And worry is a waste of time. Being ready for hardship is prudent. But I wonder, are you ready for rescue, ready for light, ready to live beyond fear. Can you live without expectations of the world falling apart, where you know the salvation of tender mercy? You know how to tie your shoes, but can you rush toward delight? Amen.