The Secrets of Zurg's
Castle The Rev. Fred G. Garry - November 3, 2002
Texts: Judges 16 and Acts 1 By fourteen I was fully convinced
that I would not make it to the NBA, NFL, or even the minor leagues
of professional baseball. For all the hours in the street, all
the long summer days spent playing catch till it was no longer
safe- it only takes one baseball lost in the darkness striking
you in the head to know when the sun goes down call it a day-
for all of this I thought it would be more bittersweet. Yet,
it came as a kind of relief.
Whatever lingering doubts I might have
had about some lurking, profound athletic talent yet to emerge
were dispelled by high school basketball. Being tall for your
age- which I was- meant any self-respecting coach must give you
at least cursory consideration. I was not only considered, I
made the team. Although my father thought I was great, as a good
father will, I knew I wasn't an embarrassment- which was what
I was shooting for. The clarity of this short, but illustrious
career was not really about talent though. The clarity was that
I hurt myself a lot. From broken bones to concussions I was exciting
to watch, but not in the normal sense.
Hence, by sixteen I heard the inner voice-
some call this reason, others the Holy Spirit- I heard the inner
voice say, "read books young man." I still play basketball.
If ever you see me limping around or wincing when I reach, the
safe bet is I tried again.
There was one last ditch effort, one
last possibility for prowess that emerged during adolescence,
something that seemed to be full of promise. Video games. I was
a young boy when pong came into being. That fascinating and awe
inspiring green screen with varying sizes of paddles and speeds
to make a ball go back and forth gave my heart a jump. For here
was a game that required some skill and yet eliminated the real
threat of physical danger. Here I thought was something for which
I could rise in the ranks of teenage idolatry. Yet, alas! With
this I was, as with the others, mediocre. Even worse, I was "leaner."
A "leaner" is someone who moves
their body with the joystick and the image on the screen. If
I wanted the tank or person or space ship to go to the right
I would lean my body to the right. I even slumped when shot,
blown up, or otherwise defeated. I know this was the case for
my childhood friends went to great pains and long stints of laughter
to point this out.
All of these memories came back to me
when I watched a movie with our youngest the other day. Dave
is fascinated by the movie, Toy Story 2. And to his credit
it is a fascinating movie. The memories came back when one of
the toys- oh by the way the toys all come to life in Andy's room
when he leaves, ever my fantasy as a young boy- the memory came
back when a toy dinosaur was playing a video game in the movie.
He was playing a space ranger trying to defeat the evil Zurg.
The game was one of those enter-the-secret-lair-to-retrieve-the-prize
mazes. The dinosaur kept getting really close, but then losing.
This I could relate to as well as his body movements and the
rather spastic quality he brought to the scene. I was amused
when I realized, "here I am," a hapless dinosaur nixed
again.
Just like my youth this initial defeat
was rousted by a glimmer of hope, a discovery. Later in the story
the dinosaur finds a magazine that reveals all the hidden secrets
to the game. Most of you may not know this, but video games today
are a kind of layer upon layer of hidden clues, codes, and passageways.
The dinosaur rejoices with this discovery for now he will be
able to defeat the evil Zurg, he has the secrets, he has what
he calls his "source of power." His joy though is short
lived as he soon sees his source of power slip away; he lost
the magazine.
Sometimes I am concerned by the connections
that seemed to come to me. For watching the dinosaur rejoice
over his discovery and then succumb to despair when the books
slips from his fingers and is lost forever, I was concerned when
I thought, "huh, just like Samson. He lost his source of
power just like Samson." I know the connection between an
ancient hero of Hebrew scriptures and a plastic dinosaur come
to life and despairing over his lack of ability to win a video
game is tenuous- it's a stretchbut in my mind they were like
two peas in a pod.
Tenuous or not there are connections
here. Each one had something they thought allowed them to win
in life, to be happy, to be better than others. Each one had
a secret of sorts. Mostly, though, each one lost his "source
of power." For the dinosaur it was a book that gave all
the secrets to Zurg's castle and for Samson it was his hair.
There is a real challenge when you choose
a metaphor like a toy dinosaur as the basis of a sermon, but
if the truth be told it was the same challenge the author of
Judges took when he chose to chronicle the life and demise of
Samson from the vantage of his hair. For there is a kind of magical,
folk-loreish quality to this story. Something we need not say,
"hey people in olden times would have believed this."
No they wouldn't, didn't. They would have suspended their sense
of everyday life and said, "I heard this story before, I
know this tale."
That is not to say there was no one named
Samson, no judge who believed his hair was his source of power,
no one who defeated the Philistines by bringing down pillars
and crushing their leaders. I have all confidence there was.
But you have to remember I thought all the toys came to life
after I left the room. No. The ancients would have done what
we need to do after hearing such a story: they would have wondered
what foolishness had come to define their life. They would have
wondered out loud, what is my source of power? And I don't think
it is at all a stretch to believe their answers, their musings
to the Samson tale would have been close to ours.
They would have thought of money. Money
is a common source of power. They would have thought of routine,
schedule, order, anything that connotes control. Being in control
is a timeless source of power. They would have thought of their
comforts, their vacations, their career, their network, their
image. The list could go on. It may not seem obvious, but I believe
these lists don't really change, just the fashions and the furniture.
A source of power, like Samson's hair
or the book with the secrets to Zurg's castle, is not something
we need to avoid directly. It is though something we need to
wonder about. For Samson his source of power was what blinded
him and most likely made him blind to the real dangers of life.
It was not a mere coincidence that the Philistines would blind
Samson when they put him in prison. The underlying suggestion
here is that he was already blind; his power had blinded him.
For he could not see Delilah for who she was, he could not see
his adultery, he could not see his own foolishness.
Money does the same thing. When money
becomes our source of power it makes us blind to what is really
needed; we can no longer see what is needed, only what is wanted.
A pop singer just said this well: it's not getting what you want,
but wanting what you got. Just as money can, control blinds us
terribly. When we control life, when we order life, schedule
upon schedule we destroy the freedom of the human spirit, the
possibility of just being with people. Last week during our Kirkin
o the Tartan service I was nearly blinded by the fear that we
would run long. All I could see was the clock. Not good.
The sources of power that blind us are
many. We don't call them our sources of power, but such they
are. For some it is their temper. How many of you have a family
member who eliminates all other considerations, all other possibilities
as no one wants to upset them. This is a pure source of power.
Yet, I can't help but wonder if the greatest source of power
today is our devotion to silence. We don't have to say, don't
have to confess, don't have to weigh in. We can stay out, keep
our opinions to ourselves, be neutral. Why, because with silence
comes power. In our culture of the self and anonymity, silence
is not golden; it's gold.
Thus when we read the first chapter of
Acts we have to be dumb struck. For the power of the Holy Spirit
is terribly contrary to this, to silence. The power of the Holy
Spirit is to witness, to testify, to confess, to speak and let
the world know that Jesus Christ is Lord. This is a rather strange
source of power for a culture, and if the truth be told, for
a church that has become smitten with anonymity, with silence.
The Holy Spirit as the power to speak in the face of opposition?
The Holy Spirit as the courage to proclaim the Gospel in light
of danger or persecution? The Holy Spirit as the overwhelming
sense of being that takes us to the ends of the world? Quite
frankly I think we are on better ground if we stick to hair care
and video games. I know we're on better footing if we talk about
money and markets; if we speak of routines and traditions we
are much more likely to be bold, than if we speak of Jesus Christ
crucified.
Luke would have been a cultural hero
today had he written, "and you will receive power when the
Holy Spirit comes upon you. You will be safe, you will be free
from all entanglements, and be led to live a life of quiet reflection
punctuated by moments of care where the recipients take your
love not for granted, but are transformed by free turkeys and
pamphlets about health care." Now I love turkey. Come this
time each year, I must confess, I dream and scheme about how
many times I can eat turkey. But this is not what Luke had in
mind is it?
Our source of power is different from
all others in one regard. Our source of power as the church called
to proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ doesn't blind us, it heals
our blindness. The power of the Holy Spirit calls a spade a spade;
the power of the Holy Spirit begs us to be honest, to be forgiving,
to be what God intended.
There comes a time in each of our lives
when we have to reckon with our limitations. At fourteen I realized
that the awkwardness I felt in the jump shot and the fear I felt
when the pitches started coming really fast were not going to
go away and a million dollar swing taking their place. And I
have had other such moments, just as all of you have. But the
greatest moment, the greatest limit I have faced is when I came
face to face with the Holy Spirit, with the sense of freedom
and power that isn't about my control, or about my career or
my finances. The Holy Spirit was about becoming the man God wanted,
it was about being the father, the husband, the pastor, the one
who is loving and bold, ready to give witness and follow.
There are plenty of limits in life. To
each one we are led to find the secret way out, the secret power,
the best bet, or right investment. Yet what if we faced the limits
not as Samson or like the plastic dinosaur looking for a source
of power, what if we faced the limits of life with prayer saying,
what is it that you have me to do? Where is it you would have
me to go? What does it mean to be your witness in an anonymous
world? What would life, what would a church look like praying
"come Holy Spirit?" Amen.
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