Sermon: Pentecost 3

Red Flag Days
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Pentecost 3, Year B (RCL)
Mark 4:35-41

It was the summer of 2001. I was living in Cambridge and commuting into Boston everyday for my internship with Ecclesia ministries and my work with the homeless. This day, my best friend Elisha joined me for breakfast in Harvard Square, then we were off to Boston for a meeting. As we reemerged from the underground, crossed the Charles River and slowed for the Charles / MGH “T” stop, Elisha and I glanced over at the boathouse. “Damn”, he said. “A red flag day and we’re going to a meeting.” “What do you mean?”, I asked. Elisha went on to explain to me that he was taking sailing lessons at Community Boating, and in order for him to sail on his own, unaccompanied by an instructor, he needed to pass part of his sailing test on “a red flag day”. “What’s that mean?”, I asked. Turns out that those nice days that we all dream of, you know, sunny and 72 with a light breeze, those are green flag days. Those days that are a little worse, with choppy waters and less than ideal conditions, those days are yellow flag days. And those days like this day happened to be, with a cold driving rain, wicked winds and white caps, those most stormy of days are red flag days.

That morning I was fortunate enough to have watched the weather and to have remembered to bring my raincoat, boots and umbrella. I was thankful that we were going to be inside all day, meeting with area clergy, social works, politicians and the like to talk about affordable housing in Boston. Part of me was even a little resentful that I had to climb out of bed that morning. It was the perfect day to sleep late, wake up to a cup of tea and to stay home and read the day away. Because of all this, I could only offer Elisha a blank stare when he cursed the fact that he’d have to be inside all day and couldn’t be out sailing. Poor guy, I thought, with a smirk and a light laugh. But then once he explained himself, I got it. It was clear. Sometimes we have to suck it up and experience the rainy days of life in order to come to truly appreciate the sunny ones. Sometimes we have to risk a lot in order to gain a lot. Sometimes a red flag day is exactly what we need in order to get to the green flag days to come.

After Elisha shared all this with me, I got it. While I’ve never sailed and really have no desire to learn, I did play sports throughout my life. I know what it means to practice. I haven’t forgotten football two-a-days in July and August. Waking up at 6am to be on the field at seven. Running for miles, tackling, running some more, all in helmet and shoulder pads and cleats. Days reaching up to 95 degrees. Resting from Noon until 1pm, then back at it from one until four. Day after day, with no one watching, no real game to be played. Maybe a scrimmage or two, but that was it. Red flag day after red flag day, one after the next, seemingly never ending, until one week it happens, back to school and the first Friday night game under the lights. The green flag day. I haven’t forgotten training for the Columbus marathon. Running 3 miles here, 5 miles there, then up to 10, then on to 18. Running in small groups in the dark of the morning with reflective gear on to be caught by the lights of the one or two passing cars on the road. Running in the rain. Running in the snow. Legs cramping, waking me up in the middle of the night. But then, one day, joining hundreds of other runners for the marathon. Running down streets lined with anonymous cheering friends and family. Then, crossing the finish line. Red flag days for almost a year, then in the blink of an eye, a green flag day of a lifetime.

And then we have today’s Gospel. A red flag day in the purest sense of the word. A great windstorm, waves beating into the boat, the boat being swamped. And Jesus’ disciples; fearful, outraged, over exaggerating. “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”, they ask. No one has died, but for them, this is certainly a fate on par with death. Their fear has paralyzed them, yes, perhaps even caused them to perish. They can’t see beyond the howling winds, the crashing waves and failing boat. They can’t see the distant shore whereon generations of gentiles wait for their arrival; wait to hear the good news. It is a red flag day for the disciples with no green flag in sight. And then it happens, Jesus stills the great storm. He calms their nerves. He removes their fear and challenges them to supplant it with faith. He reminds them of their goal; that those who want to gain their lives must lose them for his sake. He reminds them that stormy waters must be faithfully endured if calm, peaceful waters are ever to be sailed upon.

Years ago, I used to often times say to my therapist, “But it’s so hard, it’s so difficult, it’s so….” I’d say this because I had the expectation that life would always be green flag days for me. Sure, there’d be red flag days along the way, but they’d be of my own choosing. I’d be setting my own course, thank you very much, so didn’t feel I needed to worry about any storms on the horizon. Yet when the storms came, and they did, I’d be left flabbergasted, saying to him and to myself, “But it’s so hard, it’s so difficult, it’s so….” I’d be left dumbfounded, saying to God, “Don’t you care that I’m perishing!?!” Fortunately, I’ve come to learn that life is full of red flag days, just as it’s full of yellow and green flag days too. I consider myself blessed because now I can see even the red flag days that aren’t of my own choosing, even those days as opportunities for growth; as benchmarks along the way to getting back to those sunny and 72 green flag days. I’ve been reminded that the long distance race is not won on race day, but through weeks and months of hard work, dedication, fear and failure.

Recently, it seems that many of us have been experiencing those stormy, red flag kind of days. Just a few weeks ago I was talking with a friend who had recently lost his job. In his voice and in his story, I could hear the disciple’s question of Jesus; the disciples fear, outrage, exasperation. I could hear myself once saying, “But it’s so hard, it’s so difficult, it’s so….” I could see the storm clouds in his eyes that feared stepping outside when instead he could stay safely at home, warm and with a good book. In our conversation, I shared with him that instead of seeing the loss of his job as a setback, he could instead see it a growth opportunity, both personally and professionally. He, like my friend Elisha, could embrace the red sailing flag and charter those foreboding waters, confident that his ticket to freedom lay at the heart of that experience. He, like the disciples, could relinquish his fear and instead, like Jesus, rest comfortably knowing that all would be taken care of, catastrophic or calm waters alike.

This is the good news. Indeed, this is great news! How very wonderful it is to struggle through the stormy waters of life when we know that still waters run deep and are waiting for us just on the other side. How very exciting a dreadfully stormy Boston day can be for when we know that our sailing independence lay in wait. How life-giving a diligent daily mile can be when we know that a glorious finish line waits for us in the months ahead. And what a blessing it is when we are released from a life of labor to be given the gift of time and space to rediscover who we are and just exactly what it is God that is calling us to do. Life is hard, life is difficult, there’s no two ways about it. But that difficulty isn’t the end, it’s only the beginning; the beginning of a long journey, of a long voyage. A voyage of growth, of self-discovery, of renewal, and ultimately of life. A voyage with Jesus asleep in the stern, staying with us, traveling with us, helping us along the way. Thanks be to God that God loves us enough to stay with us as we continue to grow through the pain, the loss, the heartbreak and the difficultly of life! Amen.