March 10, 2024 @ Trinity Bixby
Rev. Lucus Levy Keppel
Psalm 107, Ephesians 2:1-10
I’ve been thinking a lot about the
wilderness lately. Just this week, for instance, the child of one of my friends
from Seminary has started their trek along the Appalachian trail. Morgan has been
posting about the trip, about what they’re taking and what they’re shipping
along the way for resupply.[1]
They’ve got 2200 miles of trail to travel, and will experience so many
challenges along the way. Now, Morgan isn’t alone out there – in fact, after the
trail reopened in 2021, around 3000 people have hiked from Georgia to Maine within
twelve months of their starting date. Still, I hope that you will join me in
praying over the next several months for Morgan’s safety and endurance on their
thru-hike.
Packing for such an adventure is a challenge
– how do you carry all that you need, while still being light enough to hike
for tens of miles, day after day? Along the trail, especially within the first
100 miles, are places where hikers leave gear, tools, and even food that they
realized they didn’t need. Like our blessing box, the things are left in
protected boxes for others to use. In this way, the hikers become “trail angels”
for each other, offering things you may have forgotten, or find works better
for you than for someone else.
This is a wilderness grace – sharing
what we have for those who may need it, and taking what is shared when we need
it most. In experiencing these moments of grace, we naturally begin to think of
the greater grace shown by God. Psalm 107 reminds us that even those who follow
God’s trail can get lost on the way:
Some of the redeemed had wandered into the desolate
wilderness, and they couldn’t find their way to a city or town. They were
hungry and thirsty, their lives were slipping away. So they cried out to the
Lord, and God delivered them from their desperate circumstances. God led them
straight to human habitation. (Psalm 107:4-7)
When we recognize that God leads us to each other – to help each
other out – we can celebrate with joy. That’s what this pink Sunday, in the
middle of Lent is all about –celebrating that we’re not alone on this Lenten
journey! God has led us to each other, led us back from our aimless wandering,
and back to the trail of love, mercy, and grace. I wonder how God is calling
you, right now, to the trail made just for you?
But even if we’re back on the right
trail, we may have a pack that’s too heavy. After all, there’s always a trade
off, between weight (or volume) and utility. Sure, it may sound like you want
to curl up with a good book at the end of a day of hiking, but carrying a
library of hardbacks with you probably isn’t worth the extra weight and space. Things
like that are a luxury on trail – and maybe, if you take a day to stay in a
hostel or a cabin along the way, you’ll find a book to be just the pick me up
you need. But it gets more complicated when you’re packing gear that’s not as
obviously extraneous. What you pack in your bag reflects your needs – but also
your fears. You need a shelter – but do you pack the deluxe tent, a camping
hammock, or just a simple tarp? Or maybe your rain jacket could work? To lift
you off the hard ground, maybe a quarter inch of foam, rolled up is enough for
you. Or maybe you need an insulated, inflatable mattress. Choosing what you
need is an endless series of decisions and trade-offs.
I mentioned that you might “pack your
fears” – this is an expression that hikers use to mean adding extra gear, “just
in case.” Sure, you have a down quilt – but what if it’s still too cold? Just
in case, you better pack a camping blanket. Or, if one method of water
filtration is good, then surely three is better, just in case the first two
break. What if you encounter a bear? Better pack a set of bells, bear spray,
and bear cannister. As you add more and more to your pack, it gets heavier and
heavier, fuller and fuller, and you slow to a crawl along the trail.
In life, sometimes we metaphorically
pack our fears. We might look at how we treat others. As a teenager, maybe you were
afraid of not being cool enough. So, you learned to just lean on things and not
say much. And it became a quirk. “Hey, it’s Jordan Catalano. I just like how he
leans against stuff. He leans great.”[2]
Other times, it may not have been safe to be yourself, for any number of
reasons. And so, you may have learned to deflect conversation, to bottle up or
pack away what you felt. As the world has changed, some of those strategies
that became quirks or became habits – well, it may be time for an emotional pack
review. I wonder, what do you need to keep? What might you be able to do without?
How can you be more of who you are inside, who God has called you to be?
In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul talks
about the aftermath of just this sort of spiritual/emotional pack review:
You used to wander around like the people of this world. You
followed the rule of a destructive spiritual power… All of you used to do whatever
felt good and whatever you thought you wanted, so that you were children headed
for punishment just like everyone else. (Ephesians 2:2-3 selected)
Whatever vices we’ve packed, the problem comes when we don’t consider
the way our actions affect each other. We are not meant to wander in the desolate
wilderness, but to wander together, as part of God’s family. Loving each
other means being able to be authentically ourselves with each other. Being
able to call out something harmful, or to be able to say, “Hey, I see God
working in this way through you!” And that’s what Paul does next, too: he writes,
“God is rich in mercy. He brought us to life with Christ while we were dead as
a result of those things we did wrong. He did this because of the great love
that he has for us. You are saved by God’s grace!” (Eph. 2:4-5)
“You are saved by God’s grace.” Or, to put it another way, no
matter how heavy, how unwieldy our backpacks become, God helps us pare it down
to what we need. Everything you’re struggling with, God understands, and helps
to carry the weight. That’s why, as Jesus says, “My yoke is easy, my burden is
light.” We’re not called to go alone – but to know that we are yoked together,
following in the footsteps of Jesus, and with our packs lifted by God’s good
grace.
Sometimes, though, we can become too
zealous in removing things from our packs. I recently have been experimenting
with hiking in a great kilt, or feileadh mòr in Gaelic.[3]
This is a wonderful multi-functional garment – it’s essentially a five-yard
long wool blanket that is pleated and hung over a belt. While hiking, you can
pull the ends over your shoulders for warmth, or even secure it like a hoodie
for rain protection. Since it’s made of wool, it keeps 80% of its warmth even
when its wet, and the natural oils in the wool act like a water-resistant
coating on modern clothing.[4]
All of that is wonderful – and so, I got a little full of hubris, and decided
to hike with only a tarp, hammock, and my kilt for warmth for an overnight at
Robbers Cave state park. I figured it’s been warm enough lately, so I don’t
really need to worry about it getting too cold at night. Surely the warm wool
of the great kilt would be enough?
Turns out, in my efforts to push back against “packing my fears,” I went too far the other way. Though I love hammock camping, I’d forgotten that you need to protect against heat loss in two directions – above and below. The kilt was great at keeping me warm as an overblanket, or as an underquilt – but not both at once. Compounding the problem, the temps fell to the low forties over night, when I was expecting mid-fifties at worst. Fortunately, on my way out of the house before leaving for the hike, I had remembered that I had been given a very small, very lightweight emergency mylar blanket as a gift for Christmas. I grabbed it, as a “just in case” – and it fulfilled its purpose, keeping me warm enough to not get hypothermia and actually sleep for a short while. So, thank you Faith, for your gift was the grace I needed to make it out of the wilderness.
I learned only after this misadventure
that the Gaelic for the Great Kilt - feileadh mòr – derives from two or
three sources. One is a Latin root – velum – meaning curtain or veil –
later, a sheet, as in a sheet of paper or the sail of a ship. The other roots are
Proto-Celtic, which meant generosity, modesty, and/or a festival vigil. A “modesty
sheet” – a “blanket of wakefulness” – or a “celebration of generosity.” Somehow,
all three roots seemed appropriate.
As we reflect on the journey of
wilderness grace, we see that it encompasses our challenges and fears along the
way. Like thru-hikers on the trails of life, we pack our metaphorical backpacks
with both essentials and excess baggage. But the good news is that God is our
ultimate trail angel.
Just as hikers leave supplies for each
other along the trail, God offers us the grace we need for our journey. The
psalmist reminds us that even in our wandering and desperate circumstances, God
leads us to human habitation, to each other. Ephesians tells us that we are
saved by God’s grace, and no matter how heavy our burdens, God helps us pare
down to what we truly need. However, there’s a delicate balance in this
journey. We shouldn’t become so zealous in removing things from our packs that
we overlook the essentials. As I learned on a chilly night at Robbers Cave,
sometimes we need unexpected gifts – like the emergency blanket – to keep us
warm and safe.
So, my friends, as we celebrate our
shared journey through Lent, and our shared journey through life, let us
embrace the wilderness grace of sharing and receiving. Let us be grateful for
the trail angels God places in our lives, those who offer the essentials we
need when we least expect it. And may we, in turn, be trail angels for one
another, sharing God’s grace generously. Amen.
