Faith Into Action
Fall is here. Leaves are changing in my backyard, and school is in session. At CGS the Fall
Launch features a series called "REALationships" an eight week sermon and small group series
on how to be a peacemaker. In essence, this study is a look at our faith put into action, even
when the action is difficult.
I've been thinking a lot about faith in action. As someone who likes books and learning, it's easy
for me to think of "Faith" as a rational pursuit. I want to know more about God, understand
more about the Bible, and teach more about the Gospel - all good things! But unless I learn to
put the stuff in my head into action, it's all useless. As James says, "faith without works is
dead!"
For the next eight weeks, let's stand together and take what we know about Jesus and learn how
to apply it to one of the most difficult issues we face: how to love people even when its difficult
(aka - how to work through conflict).
To help us warm up to this idea, I want to share a story that moved me. It's about passionate
spirituality. It's about putting faith into action. It's about a man who was willing to connect with
someone in need, and the difference he made. Let me share it:
Because I drive the night shift, my cab often becomes a moving confessional.
Passengers climb in, sit behind me in total anonymity and tell me about their lives. I
encounter people whose lives amaze me, ennoble me, make me laugh and sometimes
weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.
Responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town, I assumed I was
being sent to pick up some partiers, someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a
worker heading to an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground
floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice
then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis
as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always
went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I
reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
"Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. After a long pause, the door opened. A
small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox
hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered
with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the
counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she asked. I took the bag and then turned to
assist her. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking
me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I
would want my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address. She then asked, "Could you drive
through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind,"
she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."
I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left,"
she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut
off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where
she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood
where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom
where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow down in front of
a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go
now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. Two orderlies came out to the
cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to
the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent down and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You
gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said.
"Thank you."
Being an authentic follower of Jesus is more than waiving a flag or knowing a creed; it is the
willingness to turn faith into action. It is proclaiming nothing except Christ and Him crucified,
both in word and in deed. It is a willingness and commitment to practice your faith with joy and
love, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.
Standing With You;
- Pastor Tim