University Presbyterian Church - Chapel Hill, NC

WOOD TO CHOP ^[1]

Deuteronomy 6:4-15

A Communion Meditation by Robert E. Dunham

University Presbyterian Church

Chapel Hill, North Carolina

October 29, 2006

            It began with a telephone call… and a command. "I want you to come over right away.  I have something to say to you."

            The unmistakable voice at the other end of the phone belonged to an eccentric older woman in the first congregation I served, and I have to confess that her demanding tone didn't occasion much joy on my part.  Usually I enjoyed sparring with her, but that morning I had a stack of work to do.  I tried to describe for her the constraints of my schedule that day, but Mary Marshall would have nothing of it.

            So I went.  The drive across town afforded time for me to muse about what possible offense might have occasioned the command appearance, though I knew the truth was that she was a chronic complainer, and there was no telling.  I had long sensed that Mary Marshall had spent a great deal of energy perfecting the art of making demands on other persons. 

            When I arrived at her house, she met me on the front porch, and escorted me into her living room and pointed me to an uncomfortable love seat.  Without the usual pleasantries she began to tell me about a trip she and her late husband had taken to Europe some twenty years earlier.  Mary Marshall was the kind of person who missed no details and then added her own embellishments, so twenty minutes later I still had no idea why she had called me. 

            But then she said, "The Alps."

            "The what?" I asked.

            "The Alps.  They were my favorite part of Europe.  Such magnificent mountains!  I want to tell you something very interesting about the Alps.  That's why I called you today."

            "You called me to talk about the Alps?" I asked.  Even for a Presbyterian with one foot in Geneva, I thought it an odd topic for such urgency.

            "Did you know," she said, "that in the Alps there are a number of little cabins scattered all over, constructed as places of refuge for skiers and hikers?  They are very plain, but very snug.  Each one has a fireplace, and all one has to do upon entering a cabin is strike a match to light the fire already cut and set.  Someone else has chopped the wood, so that the weary traveler can enjoy the benefit of the warmth of the fire."

            "Well, that's very interesting, but..."

            "I'm not finished," she said.  "This morning, when I was thinking about that trip, about those cabins in the Alps, it dawned on me that all my life I've been burning wood other people have chopped for me, and I'm not sure I've ever thought to say so much as ‘thank you.'  Now I think it is time I started chopping wood for somebody else.  That's what I aim to do, and I wanted you to know."

            Now, in the grand scheme of things, I know, that visit was not all that urgent.  But I will also say that I wouldn't have missed that moment of Mary Marshall's personal epiphany for all the world.  For my friend that moment carried an insight into the meaning of life itself, and particularly into her own life as she approached her eightieth birthday.  All her days Mary Marshall had lived in relative privilege and abundance, largely because of the labors and planning of others, but only now had she recognized her indebtedness.  Only now had she discovered the meaning of grace.

            The words of Deuteronomy, which we read a few moments ago, always bring Mary Marshall back to mind for me, for these are the stirring words of Moses spoken to the Hebrew people as they stood on the threshold of entry into the land of promise after forty years of wilderness wandering.  These words were reminders to them that they were beneficiaries of the labors of others and of the providential grace of God.

When the Lord your God has brought you into the land that he swore to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give you -- a land with fine, large cities that you did not build, houses filled with all sorts of goods that you did not fill, hewn cisterns that you did not hew, vineyards and olive groves that you did not plant -- and when you have eaten your fill, take care that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. (Deuteronomy 6:10-12)

            In the life of the people of Israel Moses' reminder came at an important moment of passage and transition.  It is a word I would claim for us again today at this important juncture in our congregation's life and history.  We gather here this day to remember all those saints who have planted this vineyard, who have helped build this house, who have, by their sacrifice, made it possible for us to enjoy the programs and ministries and opportunities this church affords. And we stand on the verge of important commitments that we will make to this church's future for the year ahead. So I claim this word of Moses for us today because none of us have come to this important day free of indebtedness.  We live as heirs of the lives and labors of others who have struggled during the past two centuries to make this church a beacon of truth and light, to keep it faithful to the Lord of life, to create here facilities of warmth and welcome, to foster here ministries of passion and compassion rooted in the Gospel.  We all gather here today indebted to the faithful and courageous saints who have dreamed and planned, who have given sacrificially of themselves, who have built and challenged.

            Some of you here today have been a part of that legacy of faith and faithfulness over the years.  Others of you have joined the pilgrimage along the way.  Either here or elsewhere you have probably learned what it means to work hard; you have done what you could to learn, to grow, to develop your capacities.  Some of you have accomplished much in your lives, and others of you will in the years ahead.  But no one among us is self-made; all of us drink from wells we didn't dig; all of us live in communities we didn't build; as Mary Marshall noted, all of us burn wood we did not chop.  We are... all of us... beneficiaries of grace -- the grace of others, and the grace of God.

            "Take care," said Moses, "that you not forget the Lord who brought you [here]."

            One of the most important ministries of the church is the ministry of remembrance, the task of reminding the faith community of God's providential care and of calling us to live lives of gratitude.  And so, in our day the church must work diligently to remind all of us of the wells others have dug for us, of our interdependence and our need for community, of our need for grace.  So many people in our day live without any sense of grace at all, without any sense of God.

            More than sixty years ago now the German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer shocked many Christians when he wrote that the modern world had come of age and could get along without God.  My guess is that the statement does not shock us at all.  Indeed we know people, and maybe we even some we see in the mirrors each morning, who live from day to day without any conscious thought of God at all in relationship to their work, their family, their friends… in relationship to their vocations or to the political situation in our nation.  There are many who live each day without conscious reference to God.

            So it is no wonder that we have replaced biblical concerns for justice and the common good with self-centeredness, no wonder that we have settled for what is technically legal instead of what is essentially moral, no wonder that we have forgotten to say thanks.  Without a sense of God, our god becomes ourselves and our own satisfaction, and we lose any sense of connectedness or obligation.  We need a sense of grace, of our dependence lest, as Moses warned, we forget the One who brought us here...and forget to give thanks.

            As we remember, and as we offer tangible gratitude to God and to the saints who have preceded us, perhaps we can go a step further and help one another to dig a few wells ourselves.  Learning to do so can help us to build a lasting community and to prepare a useful and hopeful future for University Church and for this good town, so that generations to come may also know God's goodness and grace.

            Bill Coffin once said, "We not only inherit the earth from our parents; we also borrow it from our children."  We who have been the beneficiaries of grace need also to be its bearers and securers.  And, friends, our time is now.  It is our time to hew cisterns and plant vineyards and build buildings for the sake of those who will come after us.

            My friend Mary Marshall told me that the only cost, the only requirement for spending a night in one of those refuge cabins was that before leaving, the skier or hiker was asked to chop some wood and set a fire for the next person who would use the cabin.

            "All my life," she said, "I've been burning wood other people have chopped for me.  There are so many people who have built fires for me.  Now I think it's time I started chopping wood and building fires for someone else."

            She sat silently for just a moment, and then said, "One more thing: I'm almost eighty years old, but I reckon it's never too late to start."

            And she was right.  It never is too late.

            To those of you who have labored long and hard in this place, chopping wood and digging wells in God's name for the benefit of others, we give thanks to God for you.  But it is yet early for many of us here today.  It is yet early, and the time is now.  And, Lord knows, there's still a lot of wood to chop!