The Park Road Pulpit

    Sermons from Park Road Baptist Church

      Russ and Amy Jacks Dean, Pastors

 

The Journey to Perfection

Hebrews 12.18-29

Russ Dean, August 26, 2001

 

In the spring of 1996 a sudden storm on the upper reaches of the world’s highest mountain trapped some of the best climbers in the world, and the slopes of Mt. Everest were littered with eight more human bodies. In 1921 the British explorer, George Mallory, made the first extensive attempt on the summit which the “Sherpa people of northern Nepal refer to… as Chomolungma, [which is] Tibetan for “Goddess Mother of the World” (“Mt. Everest,” http://encarta.msn.com). Three expeditions later, he disappeared just 800 feet below the 29,035 foot summit. The first successful summit was achieved in 1953 when Tenzing Norgay, a Nepaleze Sherpa and Sir Edmund Hillary made the ascent. By the mid 1990’s over 4000 people had braved the dangers of storm and ice, each one following Mallory’s reasoning, simply “Because it is there” (www.mnteverest.net).

Jon Krakauer’s book Into Thin Air is a chilling account of the disaster of 1996. Perhaps the most poignant moment of the tragedy occurred when veteran climber Rob Hall radioed to his base camp that he had ascended too late in the afternoon and he and the climbers he was guiding were now out of oxygen, out of energy, out of hope. The members of his expedition were unable to coax him down from the mountain. Though they would never see him again, they were able to patch Hall’s radio into a telephone connection to his wife in New Zealand. In their final conversation, they chose a name for the unborn child that she carried. His final words to her, and to his friends, was a simple, “Hey, look, don’t worry too much about me” (www.mnteverest.net).

The assault on Everest has become a highly commercialized venture, with challengers paying more than $60,000 for their chance at glory, which takes several-months to even attempt. Of the thousands who fly to the Himalayas with a goal of reaching the peak, because of the many hazards which are encountered on the way to the base of the summit, and due to temperamental weather conditions, only a small percentage actually have opportunity to ascend the dangerous “Hillary Step” and claim their fame. And for what? Jon Krakauer says when he finally reached the top of the world, “…I just couldn't summon the energy to care" (www.mnteverest.net). Since Mallory’s first climb, of those who have attempted the final ascent, nearly one out of four has died.

There is good reason that before the Western world became enamored with this conquest, the people of Nepal revered the mountain as a god. The mountain is dangerous, and an aura of mystery shrouds the majestic height. Buddhist shrines still pay homage to the great “Goddess Mother,” and climbers leave prayer flags and other trinkets, seeking her peace as they begin their frightful journey.

 

The writer of the book of Hebrews speaks of Mount Sinai with the same kind of fear and awe and mystery that Everest evokes: “You have not come to something that can be touched, a blazing fire, and darkness, and gloom, and a tempest…” His words evoke the memory of the Israelite experience on that mountain, during their Exodus from Egypt. Those days on the mountain were filled with awe. So afraid were they of the voice of God that they begged, “not another word be spoken”. Even Moses, who had received the Law and had spoken with God on the mountain, said “I tremble with fear.”

            In his treatise to the people, the writer now uses the experience of Sinai as a metaphor for the old covenant, the way of life and relationship to God, before knowing Jesus Christ. God was a mountain of fear. The God of the Old Law was a God who could not be approached. A God who could never be appeased.

            But, the writer says, you have not come to that mountain. You, who have come to know God in Christ, now have a new destination. A new summit. A new journey. “You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God.”

 

            For nine years I worked at the state Royal Ambassador Camp in South Carolina. (“R.A.’s” is the Baptist organization whose primary task is Missions Education for boys and young men.) McCall R.A. Camp is located in the shadow of Sassafras Mountain, South Carolina’s highest peak at 3,560 feet. The sounds on that mountain are quite different from the sounds of Everest on the other side of the world. The sound of McCall is the sound of life. The mountain itself teems with nature: the Cicadas screech through the trees, the Bullfrogs croak in the lake, the owls hoot out their song in darkness. And by day, the fall of water down winding streams and the occasional chill of a rattler’s warning are reminders that life surrounds us, in glory and wonder. But the real sound of the life of that mountain comes from the two-legged species, called “Boy!”

            I will never forget the first day of the camping season one early June morning. The staff had gathered for a final pre-camp prayer, and in the stillness of that moment a door opened in the parking lot, the shout of a young boy echoed through the hollow of the camp, and innocent laughter followed close behind. That was all the prayer and all the “Amen” we needed. (“Amen” means: “Let it be so!”) Laughter and life – to this “you have come!”

 

            These are the sounds of Mount Zion. These are the sounds of the people of God, in “festal gathering.” Let us shout. Let us sing. Let us laugh and cry, and let us live this life together, with God in our midst. As I read these words, their sheer poetic power washed over me, and yet one word called for my attention. It was the word, “perfect.” Among that which calls us to this great mountain is “the spirits of the righteous -- made perfect.”

            The writer of Hebrews is deeply invested in the concept of “perfection.” In fact, it is the goal of that mountaintop life. In his thirteen chapters the writer uses the word, or one of its derivatives, no less than twelve times (cf. 2.10; 5.8-9; 6.1; 7.11,19, 28; 9.9,11; 10-1; 11.40; 12.23; 10.14). He writes to encourage Christian believers: hold firm to the faith, even in persecution, and above all, do not “neglect so great a salvation” (Hebrews 2.3). What is the goal of salvation? It is to experience the mountain. And what is that experience? It is to experience perfection. He states this clearly: “Therefore let us go on toward perfection” (Hebrews 6.1).

 

            Jesus’ own command to his disciples to “be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5.48), has been a stumbling block for many. For perfection is not an attribute which many are comfortable claiming. John Claypool says that perfection is often viewed as a requirement that God needs in order to be able to love us. But he reminds us that in Greek grammar, the imperative and the imperfect constructions of this word are spelled exactly alike. This means that a better translation might be, “you will be perfect.” “Perfection is more a gift than a demand. Perfection is the great consequence of God’s creation. It is what God wants to do. What God is utterly, utterly capable of” (Dr. John Claypool at Mountain Brook Baptist Church, Lent 1999 – his Greek grammar insight was gleaned from C.S. Lewis). God is capable of perfecting you.

            The Latin from which our word “perfection” comes means “complete, entire, full-grown. To those who originally heard it, the word would convey ‘mature’ rather than what we mean today by ‘perfect’” (Kathleen Norris, Amazing Grace, p.56). So how do we come to this mountain? How do we “mature” in faith?

            Here we can learn from those who fearlessly (if not foolishly) set their sights on Everest. The journey toward perfection involves much preparation. The journey is slow. The journey requires long periods of rest, simply to acclimate to each new altitude. The journey is fearful and difficult. As the Apostle Paul reminds us, salvation is a work of fear and trembling (Philippians 2.12). Perfection is difficult.

            The writer makes it clear that even Jesus’ own “perfection” was progressive. In three places he suggests this, perhaps most clearly in the fifth chapter: “Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; and having been made perfect (through his suffering), he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him” (5.8-9, cf. also 2.10, 7.28). The writer of the Gospel of Luke speaks of Jesus, growing in “wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor” (Luke 2.52). So perfection, our own perfection, is progressive. We must trust that God is indeed trustworthy, and that the work of God will one day be finished in us (Philippians 1.6). Perfection is progressive.

Perfection is also communal. In chapter eleven, the writer enumerates a biblical “Hall of Fame” of the faithful, but he concludes by suggesting that their promises were not fulfilled, in order that we might share in their work. “Apart from us,” he says, “they would not be made perfect.” As Amy suggested last week, your work is connected, through past and future to the ongoing work of God in the world. Our perfection is realized with the help of many who went before, and many who will come after. Perfection involves a community.

            Perfection is a mountain on which we celebrate the utter goodness of God. Yet the writer adds a word of warning. Perfection also comes through the purifying work of God. Eugene Peterson translates the final verses of this passage this way: “For God is not an indifferent bystander. [God is] actively cleaning house, torching all that needs to burn, and [God] won’t quit until it’s all cleansed. God… is Fire!” (The Message, p.479). Perfection is God’s fearful work, in us. It is celebrated on the Mountain of Zion, but it knows the respect and awe and reverence of the God of Sinai.

 

The question this morning is not “Are you perfect?” That would be an egotistical question, and faith is never self-centered. The question of faith this morning is, “Are you willing to be perfected.” It is difficult. It requires progress. It takes a community. It is often fearful work. Are you willing to be perfected?

 

            I heard the story of a young seminarian who was deeply impressed by the life of one of his professors. He wanted to learn more about this man’s private spirituality – how was he so nearly “perfect”? The young man wondered if you had lived a “perfect” day, how would you pray at night? So, one night he crept up to a bedroom window to eavesdrop on the old man’s bedside prayer. As the old professor knelt slowly beside the bed, he said simply “Good night, Lord.”

The prayer that ends the church’s liturgical day is this: “May the Lord grant us a peaceful night, and a perfect death” (quoted by Kathleen Norris, Amazing Grace, p.57). What a wonderful prayer for our own living. Are you willing to be perfected?

            May it be so! Amen.

 

 

Pastoral Prayer