Text: Ephesian 1.15-23
St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, The Feast of All Saints, November 4, 2007
If you were given great power, where would you start? What would you do?
There was a movie a few years ago entitled Karate Kid. About a kid in high school who moved reluctantly with his mother away from his childhood home to another city, moving into a small and ratty apartment while his mother saved for a better place, entering a school awkwardly at mid-term, with no friends to greet him. He didn’t like any of it. And for the fun of it, bullies picked on the new kid.
Pretty miserable, until one day he met an old Japanese man who chased away some bullies who had surrounded him. “You could use some help,” he says.
No one else was showing any interest, and to his surprise, the old Japanese man knew Karate. “I’ll teach you,” he said. “Come and see.”
So he did. The boy practically bounced to the old man’s home, thrilled at the prospect of lessons in karate. “I’m ready to learn."
“Good,” said the old man. “First lesson.
And picking up a block of wood with sandpaper fastened, the old man moved his hand and arm back and forth precisely, first with one hand, then the next. The boy was asked to imitate.
“No problem,” said the boy, and did just as the old man had done.
“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”
And opening the door to a brand outdoor deck, he pointed and said, “Sand the whole thing, just like I showed you.”
The boy raised his eyebrow and looked at the old man suspiciously. Bending down he began sanding furiously.
“No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like I showed you.” And so, imitating the same precise motion, the boy spent his free time for the next week, sanding the old man’s deck.
On Saturday, as he finished up, the old man watched the boy and the motion of his hands and arms. “Good,” he said. “Come back Monday.”
The boy came back Monday, glad to be done with the sanding, eager for his first lesson in Karate. The old man picked up a paint brush. “Watch,” he said. And then, very deliberately, very carefully, first with one hand, then the other, the old man stroked the brush up and down. The boy repeated the motion.
“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”
And he opened the door to a beautiful new fence that surrounded his large and spacious backyard. “Paint!” said the old man.
“Oh, now, wait a minute,” said the boy. “Paint!” said the old man, firmly.
Frustrated, the boy began painting, flicking the brush up and down, back and forth.
“No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like I showed you.” And again, the old man repeated the same, careful stroke of the brush and flick of the wrist that he had shown him before. “Like that, and no change.”
So the boy spent the next week painting the fence. On Saturday, as he finished up, the old man watched the boy and the motion of his hands. “Good,” he said. “Come back Monday.”
The boy came back, glad the sanding was done, and the painting, and eager for his first lesson in Karate. The old man picked up a large, soft cloth bundle. “Watch,” he said. And then, the old man demonstrated a deliberate, circular motion, first with one hand, then the next. The boy copied.
“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”
The old man took the boy outside to the door of a large shed. Opening the doors, the boy’s mouth fell open and he stared in at a row of beautiful vintage sports cars.
The old man handed the boy the cloth and a large tin. “Wax,” he said.
The boy rolled his eyes, and began pushing the cloth over the hood of the car. “No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like this.” And again, the old man repeated the same, deliberate circular motion. “Like that, and no change.”
So, just like he’d been shown, the boy spent his free time for the next week waxing the old man’s collection of vintage sports cars.
But by Saturday, he was furious. Three weeks wasted doing the old man’s chores. And as he came to inspect, he threw the waxing cloth down on the ground and glared at the old man.
The old man glared back and grabbed his wrist.
“I attack you with a punch from the front - you raise your hand like this,” and instinctively, the boy raised his arm and wrist, just as he done, countless times while painting the fence, and with surprising ease, turned back the punch.
“I come from the side - and you move your arm like this,” he said, and again, the boy fell into the motion effortlessly, repeating what he’d done hundreds of times while sanding the deck.
“And I try to strike with both hands, and you turn me away by doing this,” and as the boy circled his hands, as he’d done waxing the cars, he realized what the old man had taught him, he realized the power in these simple actions and his newly disciplined arms, and a smile of satisfaction covered his face.
“Good,” said the old man. “This is where we begin. And now I will show you more.”
There are two words in our lesson from Ephesians that I’d have you notice: ‘power’ and ‘enlightenment’.
The power of God is a constant theme throughout the Scriptures. But it is power for a purpose.
It is the power God displayed, when he chose Abraham and Sarah, an old and childless couple, and demonstrated his power to give life, and with it, a promise of an eternal line who would bring God’s grace to the world.
It is the power God displayed when he looked down on a beleagured band of slaves, bending back the sea in order to free his people for their mission in the world.
It is the power of God, as St. Paul specifies, to open a grave and empty it, in order that the immeasurable love of God might extend from the furthest depths to the greatest heights.
It’s the power which God has let loose in Jesus Christ. And it is that same power that St. Paul says is let loose in the lives of God’s people.
But where do you start with power like that? It’s an intriguing question. And I like how Bishop Tom Wright answers it.
With power like that, we start with ourselves. We start by dealing with our secret sins and in improving our habits of prayers.
What?
Read through Ephesians. See the great purposes for which the Son of God gave his life. Marvel at the hope being offered for every person, regardless of race, wealth or standing. And then look where it begins.
Scrub up, clean up, and shine up. No more lies. No more filthy thoughts. No more favourite vices tucked away in the corner. You’ve been given Jesus Christ. You wrap his life over your life.
And then, he says, ‘Dear God, I hope you can see it.’
This is the purpose of prayer. ‘May your eyes be enlightened,’ are Paul’s words, so that by prayer you can see the hope, the riches and the power that God is presenting you for his purposes in the world.
Have you ever thought, that these are two prayer to which we know, with 100% certainty, what the answer is? All those unanswered prayers, but to these two we know the answers. To the Christian coming to the Lord, asking that God might offer his power so that our hearts might be more like Christ, asking through prayer that our eyes might see more of what Christ saw, the answer, with 100% certainty, is yes.
It may not be easy. Some of us are stubborn.
It may not come instantly. Some of our selfish ways are deeply ingrained. We may need the help of a Christian counsellor or friend.
Things may not be clear to us all at once. We’re used to looking out for ourselves. It takes a while to see others the way Jesus does.
But we know the answer. And we have been offered the means: the power of God to give life, to turn back the floods, to roll back the stone, to conquer death itself. And for those who will ask, this power is offered to us.
And then, as this prayer is made and is being answered, there may be more. It’s always a little more complicated when we pray for others. Their freedom is involved. But with dirt cleaned up, muscles developed, and eyes sharpened, who knows what God might do with a life that’s been offered to him.
Yesterday in the National Post, as, in their own way, they mark the Feast of All Saints, was a feature on Jean Vanier, a Canadian who has founded a world-wide community of homes for those who’ve come into the world with great physical and mental injury. He has a new book and it summarizes his work the message of his life: the love that God offers in Jesus Christ, discovered first and foremost, right under our eyes, among those who are weakest. He sums it up in a sentence: To be human is to share with those who are weak.
One little thing they mentioned, which has always charmed me. He’s been spending the last week in school assemblies, sometimes in front of one and two thousand young people at a time. He doesn’t try to be clever. He doesn’t quote the lyrics of pop songs he’s never heard. He simply tells them of the love of God that begins with the obvious, and then reaches further.
The rooms are packed and the young people listen quietly and respectfully. He’s filled L’Arche homes around the world with bright young people who want more in life than new shoes and shiny cars and their search summons them to serve the weakest ones on earth. Their search brings them to the place where the power of God’s love begins.
If you were given great power, where would you start? We start here, with our own hearts. With our own eyes.
Where will it take us? We may be surprised, but the love of God has the redemption of the world in view.