First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Luke 19:1-10
Several years ago (bordering on seven, to be exact), I told you of the games I played on Wisconsin Avenue when I wore a younger boy’s clothes. There was hockey in the street, step baseball against the porch, various forms of basketball (two-on-two, three-on-three, shirts-on-skins, horse and 21) out by the garage. There was also Kick the Can, Duck on the Rock and Rain on the Roof out in the alley….not to forget Hide and Seek all over the neighborhood.
In the latter game, some kid would press his head against the big, old maple tree in front of Mrs. Gielow’s house, close his eyes (we hoped), and count to a hundred by fives (we hoped). Truth be told, he always shaved the count a little. I suppose, because we always shaved the count a little. But we managed to scramble and hide anyway. At least I did.
I was good at hiding, given that I was forever scouting out new spots….clever spots….never-before-spotted spots….spots that often took a bit of work to wriggle myself into. One time I hid so good, the kid doing the seeking walked right by me at least ten or twelve times. I mean, he could have touched me, so close were we. But he didn’t see, so clever was me.
Hiding there, all covered and camouflaged, I said to myself: “He’ll never find me here. No, he’ll never find me here.” Which was when it occurred to me: “He’ll never find me here.” Which was also when I wiggled some part of my body, which exposed me….outed me….revealed me…. leading me to say (upon discovery): “Ah, shoot, you found me.”
Next time you are a part of one of those multi-generational family gatherings (like Christmas Day dinner, perhaps), suggest that the kids play an indoor game of Hide and Seek while the adults have a second or third cup of coffee. Then notice how many of the players (especially the younger players) give themselves away in their hiding places, especially if the game goes on for any length of time and they have yet to be detected.
Concerning the time-honored pastime of hiding and seeking, Robert Fulghum once wrote:
In the early dry dark of an October’s Saturday evening, the neighborhood children are playing Hide and Seek. How long since I last played it? Thirty years. Maybe more. But I still remember how. I could become part of the game in an instant, if invited. But adults don’t play it anymore. Not for fun, anyway. Too bad.
Did you have a kid in your neighborhood who always hid so good that nobody could find him? We did. After a while, we would give up on him and take off, leaving him to rot wherever he was. Sooner or later, he would show up all mad because we didn’t keep looking for him. And that would start an argument. No matter what, though, the next time he would hide too good again. He’s probably still hidden somewhere, for all I know.
As I write this, the neighborhood game goes on. There is a kid hidden under a pile of leaves, just below my window. He has been there for a long time and everyone else has been found. It seems as if they are about to give up on him over at the base. I half considered going out and telling the other players where he is hiding. Then I thought about setting the leaves on fire to drive him out. Finally, I just yelled out the window: “Get found, kid.” Which scared him so bad he wet his pants, started crying, and ran home to tell his mother. It’s hard to know how to be helpful, sometimes.
Thirty-eight years in the ministry have taught me that the desire to be discovered is greater than I once thought. Seemingly, we want to be found. Or we want to be found out. We are lousy at secrets. Especially secrets about us. The things we hope nobody will find out, we let slip out. Which was one function of the Roman Catholic confessional….its beauty being its anonymity. The confessional was one place you could “say it,” and remain fairly confident “it” would go no further.
I have discovered that there are people who do very good things, only to say: “If it’s all right with you, I’d just as soon nothing get out about this.” But eventually there is slippage….often self-slippage….and something “gets out about this.” And there are people who do very bad things, only to say: “If it’s all right with you, I’d just as soon nothing get out about this.” But I am never surprised when, because of somebody’s slippage….again, usually self-slippage…. something “gets out about this.”
We trip ourselves up, every time. We give ourselves away, every time. Or perhaps it is better to rearrange those words, just a little, so that they read: “We give ourselves up, every time.” The phrase “give ourselves up” introduces religious language, given that it sounds, for all the world, like self-surrender….even when no one is necessarily seeking us.
But what if someone is? Minutes ago, I reread this little gospel story about this little man (little, physically….littler still, ethically). I’m talking about this man we know by the name Zacchaeus. I said “reread this story” because I’ve read it before. So I feel no need to consume great amounts of time describing Jericho….describing sycamore trees… describing exactly how Zacchaeus was a crook (albeit a very white collar crook)….and describing exactly why nobody in Jericho liked him.
Suffice it to say (for purposes of this little exercise) that Zacchaeus is the one doing the hiding, while Jesus is the one doing the seeking. And the signature text for the second Sunday of Advent is found in verse ten: “For the Son of Man came to seek and save the lost.” That’s where Advent begins, don’t you see. Advent begins with a God who comes looking. Looking for who? Looking for the lost….which, depending on the hour, the day or the circumstance, might be any of us…. indeed, might even be us, given that churches double nicely as sycamore trees (as places to hide, I mean).
Concerning people who hide, there are religions….and denominations within religions….that feature gods who say
Forget ‘em.
Who needs ‘em?
(even) To hell with ‘em.
But Luke says that ours is a God who comes seeking them. Which, I suppose, is only fitting, given that the first question God asks in scripture (I mean the very first question God asks) is “Adam, where are you?” And Adam probably giggled (or wiggled a toe) to give away his hiding place, just as Zacchaeus probably rustled a branch to give away his.
When God comes into the world, God comes seeking. God does not wait to be discovered (like North America waiting for Christopher Columbus). God takes the initiative, looking especially for outsiders (the better to turn them into insiders). Which cuts across the grain of human nature, given that human nature thrives on keeping outsiders, outside.
I remember a few tree houses as a kid. And the real joy of a tree house was not so much in who you let into it, but in who you kept out of it. Not unlike all those little clubs we formed as children. All we needed….all we ever needed….to form a club was four people. We needed a president, a secretary, a member, and a fourth kid to be kept out at all costs….without whose exclusion, the club would have no reason to exist. We boys had clubs to exclude our sisters. Our sisters had clubs to exclude us (and the little girl next door).
But sooner or later, God is going to find everybody. God is going to find the ins and the outs….the hiders and the seekers….even the treed and those who tree them. No one is going to escape God’s search and discovery act. All the evasions in the world aren’t going to evade. All the cover-ups in the world aren’t going to cover. All the disguises in the world aren’t going to disguise. Neither are all the sycamore trees in the world going to conceal.
A clergy colleague of mine hates to admit that he is addicted….20 years now….to watching General Hospital. And when a trip out of the country caused him to miss a couple of week’s worth of episodes, he figured he’d catch up by driving down to the corner for an issue of Soap Opera Digest. But figuring it would be clerically uncool to be caught buying (let alone reading) such a rag, he pulled his collar up….pushed his hat down….and whispered to the counter man: “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of Soap Opera Digest, would you?” Whereupon the counter man shouted to the stock boy: “The reverend wants a copy of Soap Opera Digest. See if we have one in the back.”
No, we will be found out. Better still, we will be found. Even when we’re not hiding….or haven’t the foggiest notion we are lost.
Everybody in the room knows what grace is. Grace is mercy after the fact. But fewer than three or four people in the room knows what prevenient grace is. Prevenient grace is mercy before the fact. Let me illustrate.
Kid wanders away. Wanders away where? Department store. Amusement park. County fair. Disney World. Darned if I know.
Wanders away from who? Mother. Father. Teacher. MYF counselor. Darned if I know. All I know is that the kid wanders away.
Well, that’s not all I know. I also know that the searchee is often oblivious….hours later….to his plight. Kid can’t figure out (when finally found) what all the fuss is about.
Why is everybody looking for me? What’s the big deal? I was just checking things out….trying things on….having a merry old time.
Meanwhile, the searcher (motivated by two parts love and one part terror) is both focused and frantic, trying to mask….albeit unsuccessfully….any evidence of desperation and longing.
Sound like any God you know?
