Sermon: The Rev. Melissa K. Hollerith

Randy and I lived off the coast of Savannah, Georgia in the early years of our ministry. We lived on an inland island called Skidaway. In the fall of 1999, right around Labor Day, everyone on the island was tuned in to the Weather Channel to see where Hurricane Fran was going to land. As the weatherman busily charted her course, the likelihood of a hit near Savannah rapidly increased.

By the afternoon, all inland islands had been asked to evacuate by 4 p.m. Now, I tried to stay calm because, after all, I grew up in Louisiana and rode out many storms, often with a hurricane as a drink. But as the weatherman got more riled up, the more I did too. Randy sat quite comfortably in his chair watching the weatherman on television while I scurried around the house like a person possessed.

First, I started grabbing up all the videotapes. And yes, I know that ages me. Videos of our ordinations, our wedding, our children, and then I started grabbing photographs and scrapbooks. Randy occasionally would offer his assistance from his perch spot in the den by yelling down the hall at me, “Be sure you pack photos of some of my relatives, too.”

From there, I moved to packing clothes for the family and essentials like our lockbox that held some important documents, and Randy tried to find a place for us to stay, which was difficult because not very many places want an 80 pound lab as a guest. And most of the hotels in nearby towns were already booked. Now, fortunately for us, a kind parishioner had reserved an extra room in Jacksonville and offered it to us.

I continued to pack, and Randy went up to the church to get the church records of weddings and baptisms and funerals. He returned to the house to find me under the bed, pulling out the family christening gown and my wedding dress. He said, “Melissa, we only have two cars. The children cannot ride on top.”

With one hour left before we had to depart, I started packing my grandmother’s silver. I started rolling up rugs, taking paintings off the wall. I was out of control. You see, I was convinced beyond any doubt that I needed all of this stuff and that I would be lost without it. I even took a video of the inside and the outside of our house, because a friend in the insurance business said it would be wise to do so.

As if I needed that, the inside of our house was now neatly packed into two cars. There was hardly room for the children and the dog, and as we took off across the causeway, a little two-laned drawbridge, I had a mental vision of the Okies in Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath.

By the time we all landed in Jacksonville, sometime very, very late that night because of the traffic, I remember Randy looking at me annoyed and saying, “Now I’ve got to unload all of this stuff because you can be darn sure I didn’t drive all the way to Jacksonville to escape a hurricane, only to have everything we own stolen from the hotel parking lot.” Okay, he didn’t say darn, but, you know, I’m in the Canterbury Pulpit.

But needless to say, we didn’t speak much during the unloading process. And to make matters worse, the family that had gotten the room for us, they pulled up right next to us. It was one of those hotel-motels where you pull right up to the door, and they waved and we waved. And then they started to unload their belongings.

But all they had was two suitcases for a family of four. So to say I was embarrassed by my car full of possessions would be a gross understatement. We went to bed that night and woke up to find that Savannah had been spared, but the whole experience made me do some soul searching. I thought in some way that I could control my life and this situation by being prepared.

And obviously, for me, being prepared was more than bottled water and the Bible and maybe some canned foods.

So why was that? Didn’t I know what was essential? Shouldn’t I, of all people, know better? Did my value, my identity, come from my stuff, or did it come from being a beloved child of God?

Would my life feel meaningless if everything had been lost? What was I afraid of? Where was my faith? Where was my trust? How many times does Jesus say, “Do not be afraid. Fear not, little flock.” He says it repeatedly in His ministry and in His resurrection appearances, because He knows we need to hear it.

And yet, just like Peter in our gospel this morning, I felt afraid. I felt scared. But instead of reaching out to God, like Peter did, I clung to my stuff. So after this ordeal, I had to ask myself a couple of questions. And maybe some of you can relate to these as well.

First, if Christ is my Lord and Savior, do I trust Him completely? Or do I have to try and control it all when life gets difficult?

And what I discovered after a little reflection, is that it is a serious struggle to decide to trust and rely completely on God. I know I’m not alone. Many of us, we love to be in control. And with that personality, what I fear is that oftentimes we look to the wrong things. We look to our portfolios, or our possessions, or our families, or our jobs to give us a strong feeling of safety.

And make no mistake, they do provide us with a sense of security. But since we’re in the Cathedral today, let’s not kid ourselves. They don’t give us ultimate security. There’s only one true source for security, and that is our faith in a loving and redeeming God. There is so much in this world that is simply beyond our control, and that’s hard for many of us to accept.

But if we think for just one minute, control is an illusion because life is inherently unpredictable. No amount of micromanagement can prevent a sudden diagnosis, or an economic shift, or a natural disaster. Anxiety is the smoke alarm of a control issue.

And going all the way back to Genesis, it is hubris to think we can always control things, and that hubris can get in the way of the grace of God, a grace that will often surprise us in ways we never imagined or expected, if we simply give God the room to work.

As someone who has spent the last 35 years as an educator, I see this often with the most loving and caring parents. They work so hard to make sure their children have full lives with elite sports and S.A.T. tutors and enriching activities, all wonderful and all well-meaning. But in the back of their minds is the assumption of if they input the perfect variables, they will guarantee a perfect pain-free outcome for their kids.

And that feels good. It feels good to be in control of something. But controlling too much is a burden that we actually weren’t created to bear. That’s God’s domain. Where’s the room for God’s grace?

I’ve seen this play out financially, too, for people. People put too much trust in the numbers on the bank statement to protect their future, rather than trusting in God’s promise to provide our daily bread.

Every year, when Randy and I decide on our gift to the church, we pray about it, and then we come together and write down what number we’re thinking about on a piece of paper for our gift. And then we trade pieces of paper.

I’ve been married to the man for 38 years, and every single year, Randy’s number to give to the church is higher than mine. You see, I worry we won’t be able to give that amount. I want to hold back. We only have one car. Our son’s getting married. It all comes from a place of fear, not trust. He, on the other hand, will say, “Melissa, we can’t outgive the giver. Let’s walk by faith.” And it’s such a good lesson in walking with God and faith, instead of fear.

So how are we to rid ourselves of these fears? I don’t pretend to have any easy answers on how to make the shift. God certainly doesn’t give easy answers. In fact, Jesus never said that following Him would be comfortable or easy.

In fact, He’s quite clear how hard it will be. But the call is pretty clear. God calls us to rely on Him alone for everything. Now, when Jesus pulls Peter into the boat as He’s sinking, He looks right at Peter like a fussing parent or teacher or principal, and He says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

I love that scene. I’m Peter. I want to trust. But I kind of also want to know, I want to be in control. Letting go and giving everything to God is a scary prospect.

And right before that scene, Peter shows us when he steps out of the boat and onto the water and starts walking forward towards Jesus. He shows us that we too can do hard things even when we’re afraid.

But we have to keep the faith, even when we’re afraid. Peter was doing fine when he had his eyes on Jesus walking towards him, but as soon as he stopped having faith, he started to flounder and sink.

We have to learn to rely on Jesus for strength, for courage, for comfort, for solace, for peace, for love, for guidance, for literally everything we need. And when we feel like we’re vulnerable, like we’re sinking and the ground is falling out beneath us. When we feel there’s so much that is beyond our control, beyond our grasp. That’s when we have to hold tight to His words this morning.

“Do not be afraid.” Do not. Do not be afraid. For Jesus’ promises that He loves us and there’s nothing to fear, ever. Nothing can separate us from that love, even in death. We belong to Him.

So let’s make His words, “Do not be afraid”, our mantra. If our spouse walks out, if our child gets sick, if we lose our job. Let’s cling to what we know to be true and do our best to live each day knowing because God is on the throne, we don’t have to worry. Amen.