I took comfort in the words "I have called you by name…" in a literal sense, for I was afraid. Sitting in the classroom of my first course after many years, I hung onto the words, "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you." When I took my comprehensive exams, I clung to the promise "when you walk through fire you shall not be burned…", and discovered the truth of these words. We search hopelessly for answers on our own, forgetting our Source of wisdom; the One who says, "Fear not, for I am with you." This is what discernment is about: answers come from God, but we cannot receive them without trust in God.

These words of Isaiah are not guarantees that we will be spared from any difficulty in life. None of us will sail through life without some problems along the way. What we are promised is a God who will stand beside us to celebrate our joy filled times as well as lead us through the difficult ones. Hang onto these words, "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; and you are mine." They are the tent of promise in our lives. I know now, what mattered most was taking the risk, enduring the toughest of times that brought proof to these words.

The kind of risks I’m talking about is being asked to do something outside of our comfort zone, especially in the faith department, where we know God is involved; like coming to a Sunday school class, or joining a small group, or spending time in prayer by yourself. It is safer to decline, we think, than to follow an invitation from God. We say no because we are pretty sure we can’t do whatever it is on our own. We forget that we are not being called to do it on our own; we are called to show up and follow what God has in mind for us. These words of Isaiah have no meaning until we dare to trust God. Risk is the beginning of faith. It is the beginning of a partnership in our transformation.

Resisting is easy. We can, and do, say no and the price is living with more fear, instead of building our trust in God. We look to others for answers forgetting our primary Source of wisdom; the One who says, "Fear not, for I am with you."

I think God wants us to enjoy life, not be afraid. When God calls us we have already been equipped to follow and when we do, we can find ourselves squarely in the safety net of God. We did not get burned; the waters did not overwhelm us. We have begun to build our trust in God for the next time.

Our dance with God, this daring and then pulling back, reminds me of the trust required in learning to walk. As a toddler, we pulled ourselves up to the coffee table and with eyes riveted on our parent we first let go of one hand, then the other. Maybe we fell but tried again always with some fear, but then we decided to take the risk and off we staggered. We had built up a trust that our parent would not harm us.

I think our relationship with God is like this. We have to pull ourselves up, dare to take that first step and know that God is right there to catch us when we fall. We are being nurtured into our relationship with God, sheltered along our journey, welcomed into a fellowship of believers. Now we have something to share with others. That is what I am doing with you, now, and that is what you can do with others. That dance is receiving love and passing it on; being nurtured and offering it to others; being welcomed in a fellowship of believers like we enjoy in this place; and inviting others. It is not meant for us to hold fast like the toddler with a toy, saying "mine, mine."

I think the importance of risk is not about the action as much as the risk itself. For you see, it is only in the act of deciding to risk that we receive the proof that God will be there for us. If we sit in our pew with our arms crossed and inwardly demand "OK, God, I’m listening, now prove it", we miss the invitation. God is an inviting God; even a persistent One, but God does not force us. The invitation to trust is open and always for our benefit. The act of invitation to risk is God’s way or providing our shelter from the stormy blast of life.

A week ago we hosted a community gathering on mental health disorders. The purpose was to provide a safe place to learn and speak openly about mental diagnoses that afflict many of us and our families. Mental disorders is one of the last forbidden subjects we do not discuss openly and as a result, misinformation causes fear that leads to prejudice and eventually to debilitating isolation. I did not expect a large group on this subject but on this Saturday, seventy eight people arrived from five churches, plus ours, along with people from the community, who had seen our sign. They came to learn, to connect and to hope again.

Various forms of depression and related disorders were explained and people began to share at their tables why they were there; for themselves, colleagues or those they love. Then a wonderful thing happened: one of the participants, a recent high school graduate, raised her hand. She told us her diagnosis and asked, "How do I explain my diagnosis and behavior to my friends?" At that moment she had given everyone there permission to speak. Right there in Charter Hall, people were being sheltered in safety and nurtured in compassion. The silence had been broken and the healing had begun.

Shelter comes in many forms. For most of us, the gripping pictures of the earthquake in Haiti have remained. Over 200,000 lives were lost in the disaster with thousands more without home, food or medical care. We have heard it will take perhaps years and billions of dollars to rebuild, with education, transportation, and employment long term projects. Yet, instantly shelter was provided. The world began to respond. Surrounded by devastation that looked hopeless, we know that God can bring something good out of destruction. People volunteered, just as we would hope if an earthquake occurred here.

We have seen it in Afghanistan too, where poverty feeds the production of heroin. People who are starving can earn more planting poppies, than food. We have supported schools being built amidst violent Taliban country, which thrives on the lack of education. Despite the threats, 170 schools have been built, through one man’s courage. Greg Mortenson believes books have more power than bombs and is working to provide the shelter of education. He has not been killed by the Taliban. His schools have not been destroyed. His family is intact. I believe he too, is being sheltered by following God’s invitation.

Shelter provides a place for us to grow. When you and I feel safe and accepted, we are being nurtured. During Lent this year, our church embarked on an adventure of nurture. Everyone in this congregation, both members and visitors, had an opportunity to be part of a Lenten Gathering and over 120 decided to accept the invitation. Our church membership is geographically divided into twelve Shepherding Groups. They have met periodically for social events, but this was the first time they came together with a faith purpose. They made a commitment to meet for 6 times for two reasons: first, to get acquainted with those they may have recognized but did not know. Second, to use the parable of the Prodigal Son as a vehicle for discussion that provided the method for connecting with each other.

The groups had both male and female participants, members and visitors, and those experiencing a small group for the first time. In several cases the facilitator was apprehensive as they had not done this before, but aware that God was inviting them to risk and they did. I would like to share a few comments from the group’s evaluations:

At some level, I think all of us came back, as we were being nurtured into a new relationship with God and each other. When we are sheltered we are then able to experience the spiritual fellowship we crave, even if we don’t know what it is. That’s how we are created, to be connected. It’s why we weren’t made self sufficient. When we gather as believers there is a unique fellowship that occurs and feeds

us.

Some of you know Jim Stockbridge in this congregation, who has just endured two grueling open spinal surgeries. He is part of a Companions’ Group in this church. I asked for his permission to share some of his thoughts with you today that he shared with me and with his men’s group. Part of what he said resonated with me when he said, "Men have a difficult time having a meaningful conversation with each other; that’s why we resort to sports, or our jobs, because we don’t know how to talk about what is important to us; like our faith or how we feel about life. The world expects us to know things we don’t; to act brave when we’re not, and generally conceal who we are. We avoid anything that others might see as needy. But I have discovered as I have gotten older that a small group where trust resides is a wonderful gift of fellowship. Women have done this all their lives, but we men have missed out."

Recently, between his first and 2^nd surgery, not yet healed, he insisted on attending his Men’s Companion’s meeting to the surprise of the others. Here he relayed, "I very much wanted to be here with you guys. This group is as important to me as anything that happens in the sanctuary. We’ve grown in faith and become like brothers, sharing our deepest feelings. When I enter the sanctuary for worship, I find myself looking around for you guys, and I’m comforted when I see you. We’ve learned about love and trust and I’m not afraid to say, I love everyone of you."

This is the power of a small group. It can be a place of shelter when life batters us around. All of you have been wounded at times, but the waters did not overwhelm you. You were not consumed by the flame; and neither were you destroyed. Your broken heart, or your broken body, survived. Like a daffodil bulb that lies dormant all winter, you too were able to push through the thick mud of your life and bloom again.

Nelson Mandela, is a person like that, who not only survived but changed the lives of those around him. Incarcerated on an island for 27 years, he chose not to let revenge capture his heart, but instead developed a plan for his people and practiced it with his fellow inmates, even going so far as providing a place of honor for his prison guards at his inauguration. During what must have been the dark night of his soul, Mandela chose to prepare himself physically, intellectually and spiritually, for whatever was to come, whether he was released from prison or not. He chose to be free behind bars.

Despite the constant threat of being killed or incarcerated for life, Mandela was released. He went on to win the Nobel Peace Prize, and became the first democratically elected president of South Africa. He is considered by many the worlds’ most respected political and moral leader. Both sheltered and nurtured, he chose to stand for what he believed, even amidst great pain in his own life. Mandela stood for justice, kindness, and trust in God, and so can we, under the shelter, nuture and spiritual fellowship of God.