Tell me where I heard this phrase, would you? I incorporated it into my opening words (more like, charge to the congregation rather than opening words) and then into my part of the sermon, so I want to know where I read it before I used it. Any ideas?
Here’s how I started today:
A Leap of Commitment
In religious language and in popular culture, we hear people sometimes talk about taking “leaps of faith.” We hear of people who aren’t real sure that what they are about to do will pan out positively or negatively, but they decide to “take a leap of faith” that all will be well.
Sometimes it works out positively, sometimes not. But, as life goes, it always works out one way or another.
Today, I want to ask you to NOT take a leap of faith. Instead, I ask you to take a leap of commitment.
Leap into this faith–feet first.
- Commit to act in the name of love.
- Commit to act in the name of justice.
- Commit to act in the name of community.
- Commit to act.
This faith of ours is not a static faith. It is one that continues to move where and when it is needed. It is not a faith of the status quo, of going along to get along. No, it is a faith that continues to challenge us to make this world better, but not for ourselves alone. We are challenged to make this world better for those who are poor or oppressed. We are challenged to stand up for those without a community of power.
Because that is who we are. Together. A community of power. But only when we make that leap of commitment to this place, to each other and to our children, as well as to the nameless many who need someone, perhaps even us, to act on their behalf.
Those who struggle in China or in Burma (Myanmar) or in New Orleans, still, as a result of natural disasters compounded by willful and ignorant governments. Those whose lives are ripped apart by war, through the loss of a loved one, through the loss of the companionship of a loved one, through the loss of someone who comes home someone else entirely. Those who struggle in poverty whether it is here in Lake County, or next door in Porter County, or in South or Central Africa. Those who struggle with mental illness, their own or someone else’s. Those who work three jobs but still manage to go to bed hungry as they pay for housing, healthcare, and basic human services. Those who are simply unable to speak out for their own needs.
Let us be a community of power for them and all the other nameless many who need someone to speak and act on their behalf.
Let us leap then, together. Let us take this marvelous, tumultuous, and often wrenching leap of commitment. Like that leap of faith, when we leap into commitment, we may not be able to control what the outcome will be. But we control something: our own engagement with that future.
Let us, together, envision ourselves as that community of power and all that that can mean. And then, let us commit to being that community, and all that that can mean.
Let us leap, my friends, with open eyes and limber legs prepared for that bumpy landing—but a landing that shall be cushioned, always, by the love we find, here, in this community of power.