By Reverend Laurie DeMott

This is a sermon for all of those who make "to do" lists every day and then sometimes even add things to their list that they have already finished just so that they can cross them off, because they are control freaks.

This is a sermon for those who itch to grab the screwdriver out of their spouse's hands and say, "Just let me do it," for those who want to navigate and drive, for those who won't give up the remote control to the TV, because they are control freaks.

This is a sermon for those who are afraid of flying, not because of terrorists or claustrophobic planes, but because they have to sit passively in their seat while the fate of their life is in someone else's hands. It doesn't matter that they don't have a clue as to how to fly a 737; they have a subconscious conviction that they could still do it better ... because they are control freaks.

This is a sermon for all of the control freaks among us, and for those who love them and want to help them! So if you are a control freak, hold on to your pews because it's going to be a rough ride. All of those bible passages about helping others and giving to the poor and being good and kind -- they are a piece of cake compared to the scriptures today because the scriptures today remind us that there will come a time when we need to let go and let God fly the plane.

In the passage from Genesis, Abraham is worried about the future and he asks God to guarantee him that everything will turn out OK -- that he will have children and a place to live in safety and peace. God doesn't give Abraham the immediate assurance he is looking for but instead tells him to gather the elements for a covenant making ceremony. The ceremony that the Bible describes seems very odd and a little gruesome to us -- it involves cutting animals in half and laying their carcasses out on the ground to form an alleyway. The parties making the covenant then pass between the dismembered animals to symbolically declare, "If I break this covenant, may I be broken like these animals have been broken." It's similar to the ritual children go through today more figuratively when they say, "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye" -- also a gruesome image when you think about it.

Abraham accordingly spends his day butchering animals -- hauling the carcasses out to the plain and driving away the vultures delighted by the prospect of a feast -- but before God is able finally to begin the ceremony, Abraham, worn out from all of that work, falls into a deep sleep. And while Abraham slumbers on in complete oblivion, God passes between the pieces, makes a covenant with Abraham, and forever changes the man's world. And it all happened while he was sleeping.

It seems like people in the Bible are always sleeping through the best parts. Adam slept while God created a lifetime companion for him. Jacob slept and dreamt of angels, and woke up to say, "Surely the Lord was in this place and I didn't even know it." The disciples fell asleep on the mountaintop when Jesus was transfigured, and again in the Garden of Gethsemane when he was preparing himself for the cross. Time and time again, important people in the Bible -- people that we revere as heroes, doers, actors, take charge kind of people -- fall asleep and then wake up to find the world has changed without them: it has been transformed overnight by the power of God. Jesus says that we are to expect this, that that is the nature of God's realm. Like a farmer, he says, we can plow the field and we can plant the seeds, but what God chooses to brings forth from our work will happen while we are sleeping, and what happens and how it happens will ultimately remain a mystery to us. One scholar said, "There is no easy take-home message for us in these passages because they ask us to let go of the world we are accustomed to where everything is planned, linear, and logical, and step into God's world which is filled with mysteries and surprises"

Certainly there's no easy take-home message in these passages if you are a control freak, because the gospel says that there comes a time when even the hardest working, smartest, most organized, most efficient planner, needs to let go and let God fly the plane.

Now all of the self-confessed control freaks out there are probably squirming a little in your pews by now, but before the rest of you get too smug, sitting there nudging your spouse with a "that's what I've been telling you" kind of nudge, the fact is that there is a message here for all of us, because even the most lackadaisical among us sometimes experience stress and anxiety when we feel we are not completely in control of the events of our lives.

For example, everyone complains about teenagers but isn't the stress of being the parent of a teenager mostly the stress of losing control over their lives? I remember when John was about 14 realizing that if he chose to ignore my rules, there wasn't much I could really do about it, because he was now bigger than I was! I just hoped he hadn't realized it too. When your kids are younger, you can control how they spend their time, and what they eat, and even who they play with, and you can physically pick them up and put them in a time out chair if you have to, but when they grow older and get bigger and spend more time away from you, any control you have over their choices is based only on the intangible respect and trust you have built with them over the years, and frankly that control often feels tenuous at best; hence our anxiety.

Or how many of you have experienced the stress that accompanies the internal debate you go through in trying to decide whether you should forgive someone or not? "If I forgive them," we say, "will that mean they will be more likely to hurt me again, or less likely to hurt me again? Will forgiving them heal my heart? Will it teach them the proper lesson? How can I make sure that my forgiveness of that person leads to the change I want for all of us?" We know we are called to forgive but we want to maintain control over the results of our forgiveness; hence the stress.

We live in a linear world that preaches cause and effect: "If I do A, it will lead to B: If I give to the poor, poverty will decrease. If I help a neighbor, he will stop being so grouchy. If I'm kind and loving like Jesus taught me to be, I can save the world just like he did."

We think that we can control the results of our efforts because we assume A will always lead to B, so when A doesn't lead to B -- when we give and give and give and the poor are still with us, and the grouchy still grouch, and the world doesn't seem any closer to salvation than before, we freak out. We give in to despair or rage at the injustice, and we kick all of those frustrating people who refuse to conform to our idea of the perfect world.

Maybe for their sake and for ours, it's time to let go and let God fly the plane.

Now, let me be perfectly clear -- I am not saying that we should kick back in our easy chairs with a bag of cheetos, say, "I'll just give it to the Lord," and spend our days watching "Law and Order" reruns. Abraham put in a hard day's work butchering animals; the farmer put in weeks of plowing the earth and planting the seeds. We are still called to do the work. We are still called to practice compassion and fight for justice. God still needs you to forgive those who have hurt you, to love fully and give of yourself to others, but we are also called to live in the mystery of faith not knowing for certain whether any of that work will make a difference but trusting in God that it will. It may just happen while we are sleeping.

Henry David Thoreau said, "...it matters not how small the beginning may seem to be, what is once well done is done forever."

You assume that loving that grumpy neighbor will change that neighbor's heart, but maybe God will use your love to change the person who passes by on the street, sees your efforts at compassion, and is moved to greater caring himself.

You assume that battling injustice will lead to policy changes that you believe are best for society, but maybe God will use your persistence to inspire courage in another whose efforts will go on to bring success on some other field of battle.

We don't know and we cannot see the difference our caring may make, and to insist on knowing is to insist on climbing into the cockpit of that 737 where frankly we have no business in being. Jesus calls us to do the work of faith and respond to God's call to love others to the best of our ability, but then to let go and let God fly the plane. We may have no idea where God will take us, but Jesus assures us that when we get there, we will discover that it is the place we and the world most needed to be.

Do the work as best you can, love the people as best you can, and then get out of the cockpit and let God fly the plane.