Just As I Am

Once upon a time, in the city of Alexandria in Egypt, there was a library, the Biblioteca Alexandrina.  Most of us have heard some stories of that great library, the Library of Alexandria, though there is little hard evidence to support those stories.  Some say that the library was established by Alexander the Great when he was the ruler of Egypt in 332 BC.  Others say it was established around 300 BC by the great pharaoh Ptolemy I, or even by his son, Ptolemy II.  It is said that the collection was seeded by the original works of Aristole.  It was at this library that Archimedes invented the screw-shaped water pump that is still used in Egypt today to irrigate the land around the Nile. The library also claims to be the birthplace of geometry – the place where Euclid discovered the rules of geometry that body of mathematics. Until it was burned to the ground by the military forces of Julius Caesar in the first century… or, perhaps, demolished by the forces of Islam in 640 AD, it was the greatest repository of human knowledge in the world. It is believed that at the time of its destruction, it housed more than seven hundred thousand books… a considerable collection, if you take into account the fact that books in those days were parchment scrolls, painstakingly written by hand.

For centuries, the world mourned the loss of not only the library, but the vision that created this awesome collection of the world’s knowledge. However, less than a decade ago, the Republic of Egypt and UNESCO announced the opening of the new Biblioteca Alexandrina on the banks of the Mediterranean Sea. Twenty years in the making, this new Library of Alexandria… a breathtaking example of architecture and engineering and a project of incredible vision… is dedicated to the same openness and scholarship of the original library. Designed to hold more than three million manuscripts… in addition to countless electronic copies of additional literature and resources with connections to every major library in the world… the Library of Alexandria looks like the Egyptian sun… or a very large computer chip… rising from the sea. The immense space inside is illuminated by the desert sun through thousands of skylights… tetrahedrons that do not allow any direct sunlight into the building, but provide breathtaking views of the sea.  Deceptively simple in design, these skylights are also functional, acting as passive solar convectors, pulling cool air from the levels below the ground to protect the library’s contents even if the electrical and mechanical cooling systems should fail. Outside, the rough granite wall on which the tilted circular roof rests contains carvings of letters of the alphabet from more than five hundred different cultures spanning almost ten thousand years of time. Rising from a pool of water, the wall provides a sense of the rise of civilization that, despite its long history, has only begun to make its mark.

Standing in entrance balcony of the massive reading room inside the building, facing north toward the sea or south toward the rising terraces of knowledge… the tables, chairs, book shelves and computer terminals that seem to stretch to eternity… one tiny human being is swept up into that sense of timelessness and majesty that permeates all great public spaces… that cocoon of consciousness that connects the whispers of voices from thousands of years of history with a bold, fearless stride into a future as yet undetermined and unknown.  Eight hundred thousand individuals a year pass through that entrance… and catch their breath in awe and wonder.  What do they think about when they stand there?

There are places in this world that defy the imagination… that transcend time and space… natural ones, like the Grand Canyon, the Alps, the Sahara Desert and the Black Forest… and ones built by human beings, like the Library of Alexandria, the cathedrals of Europe, and the Great Wall of China.  When I stand in those sacred spaces, I think about God… the amazing God who has given us this incredible earth in which we live… and gifted us with the vision and ingenuity to create such magnificent splendor in it.  I also think about human beings… tiny, insignificant mortals who, regardless of the greatness of their words or their deeds… pass into eternity leaving only a whisper of their lives behind.  Isaiah calls them grasshoppers… creatures who descend in countless, mindless numbers to devour the earth, but create no lasting good… and individually are nothing.  Even those who created such incredible monuments as the first Library of Alexandria or the magnificent cathedral in Rheims or the Seven Wonders of the World passed into obscurity… as did their magnificent works.  Why do we have the audacity to think that we are important… that we… you and I… make a difference?   It is because of these words from scripture.

Without these words, we become just another generation among thousands of generations that are born and die and pass into obscurity.  Without these words, life becomes a finite struggle against the elements, from the time we first gasp for air and loudly protest the loss of the warm, protective space in which we grew in our mother’s womb to the time we release that last breath from our bodies, returning to the dust from which we came.   But with these words, we are transformed into creatures of light who carry the very image of God within us… creatures who, through God’s grace, are destined for eternity… and a place at the right hand of Christ himself in glory… Christ whose existence transcends all that is known and can be told to a glorious splendor that is beyond words and human language.  For us… the redeemed in Christ… there are not just places that transcend time and space… that call to mind the wonder and majesty of our Creator God… there are those moments when the doors of heaven open and we can catch a glimpse of eternity.

And yet, we often cringe to hear those stories of God’s grace… stories that begin with “I was sinking deep in sin…” and end with “just as I am, without one plea.”  They seem simplistic and theologically naïve. They belong in Christian tabloids… like “Guidepost” magazine… not in today’s contemporary culture.  For those who have grown up in the South… a revivalist culture that Flannery O’Connor called not "Christ-centered… but Christ-haunted"… these stories smack of snake-charmers and medicine men.  The personal testimonies… filled with soap-opera plots of human life… seem more suited to daytime TV than to the reality of life.  Surely, no one lives those stories of salvation and grace in this day and time.

But, I think the real reason why such stories of sin and salvation cause us discomfort may be that they bring us too close to the molten core of the Christian faith. We prefer to leave the control rods safely in the reactor… lest we be exposed to something terrifyingly unpredictable.  But as much as we might like to domesticate the gospel… to make the faith about spiritual enlightenment… or ethical ideals… or the broad love of God that inspires tolerance… the fact of the matter is that the gospel is, at its root, a rescue story. Even Jesus’ name… as theologian William Placher reminds us… means "the Lord saves."

"You were dead through trespasses and sins in which you once lived, following the course of this world," says Ephesians, but now "by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing." To see this statement as applicable to us… to swallow even one ounce of this claim… we must admit to a cluster of truths about ourselves we would rather not face:  that we are captive to cultural and spiritual forces over which we have no control… that they have drained the life out of us… that we are unable to think or feel or crawl our way free… and that we are in urgent need of a God who comes to rescue. In short, we need saving.  We can accommodate this, perhaps, in a 12-step program, but to encounter it as a description of our true and basic selves sends us scrambling for safer ground.

What is it that will allow me to tell you the awful reality of my life before God wrapped his arms around me and drew me to him?  How can I describe the sheer stupidity of the choices that I made… the fear and longing that sent me to look for love in all the wrong places… the hopelessness with which I looked into my own future?    To admit all of that would be to confess that, yes, I loved darkness… I lived there.  To admit all of that would be to allow myself to be seen as less than amazingly competent… less than astoundingly brilliant… less than perfectly pastoral… to  throw away my pride and to bare my humanity… with all of its finitude… before you.  Why would I do that?   Can’t I compare the wonders of God’s grace to mountains and cathedrals that transcend time and space… to chasms and the cross that are safer viewed from a distance… to artistry and architecture… majesty and marvels without the sticky ickiness of personal need… individual sin… a tortured, dying savior… and a love that would give everything for the chance of reconciliation?  Must I submit… grovel… and bare my soul?

Stop now and reread those words from Ephesians, beginning in verse 4:   “But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ… by grace you have been saved… and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus.”  And continue on with verse eight:  “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.”   Before we repented… before we even knew enough to repent… Christ died for us.  The salvation that we have received is not something we can earn.  It is a gift… a gift of love from the One who loves us… who has loved us and given himself for us while we were yet sinners.  Yes, the next verses say that we are created for good works… but not works that will earn our way into heaven.  These works are the joyous response we give for the gift we have received… the gift we cannot earn.

I am sure that there are several in this congregation whose stories of grace and of salvation are better than mine.  My question to you is this:  When was the last time that you told anyone about God’s love and what it means to you?   The greatest gift that you can give in return for the gift that you have received is to tell others of this gift… to share the story of God’s love.  I love to tell the story… because I know it’s true.  I love to tell the story… and I hope you learn to love to tell it, too, for there are those who hunger and thirst to hear it.  I have found that the ones who love to hear the story are the one who know it best.  Tell the story… someone wants to hear it.  And that story… unlike the buildings and the people… will always be the same.  Tell the story.  Amen.

1 Corinthians 1:18-25