Easter 6 ~ 1 Peter 3:15-18~ "A Reason for Hope" ~ Susan McGurgan, D.Min.

Where I live now,

there really isn’t much of a market

for “personal testimony”

or Wednesday night altar calls.

In fact,

where I live now,

religious testimony is about as welcome

as an update on your cousin’s surgery or an invitation to a harmonica recital.

But back home,

when I was growing up,

just about everyone I knew

had a Christian testimony—

a witness story to tell,

and they told it,

whether you really wanted to hear it,

or not.

And for me,

It was “mostly not.”

Where I grew up,

the holy trinity was

Football, Barbeque, and Jesus.

Friday night was dedicated to High School football

and Saturday was for College football and barbeque.

But Sunday belonged entirely to Jesus,

along with Wednesday night.

Old men

stood up in Wednesday night meetings

to give a testimony honed by years of practice—

reciting an epic tale of temptation and sin,

and the time Jesus himself

pulled them from the gutter and washed them

cleaner than snow.

I heard of preachers

whose stories could curl your hair

and make you sorry you ever teased your brother

or sassed your mother.

Even the very young learned how to testify

and share what God was doing in their lives.

And no matter what your age or station in life,

If you couldn’t tell that story

In public,

Out loud,

Well…

you really weren’t much of a Christian,

now, were you?

Testimony was as much a part of the landscape

as red clay and gale force winds.

It was in the air we breathed

and the water we drank.

But to tell the truth,

back then,

it didn’t make me feel closer to Jesus.

It didn’t make me want to share my own testimony

or invite me to evangelize.

Mostly,

It just made me uncomfortable.

I moved long ago

and since then,

in the parishes I have attended,

there have been endless conversations about

the parking problems at the 10 AM,

discussions of vocations,

the diocesan reorganization

the new building campaign,

the need for more Adoration times,

and the welcome pastoral approach of the new Bishop,

but the topic of personal testimony

almost never,

ever

comes up.

Yet, today, in the reading from I Peter we hear:

Always be ready to give an explanation

to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope.

Always be ready to give an explanation

to anyone

who asks you for a reason for your hope.

There doesn't seem to be much wiggle room there

for people like me.

No,

and as a matter of fact,

Scripture makes it pretty clear

that we must not only live our faith,

we must also speak it.

Out Loud.

Using our words.

Scripture invites us to become comfortable

naming those times we have

personally

encountered the holy.

I took this to heart a few years ago,

and finally learned

what my friends back home always knew.

Sharing testimony is simple.

We try to make it hard,

but testimony is as simple as:

I met Jesus, and this is what I believe about it.

I have come to trust

the transformative power of testimony

because I have seen its fruits in my life.

Now, I don’t have big stories to tell—

no dramatic conversions,

miraculous cures,

prophetic visions,

voices from on high.

My life is ordinary—

Even boring.

Perhaps that's why I felt uncomfortable

with the idea of public witness.

But along the way,

I have learned that an ordinary life

is an extraordinary gift

when seen through the eyes of faith.

I have been granted mercy and forgiveness

even when I don’t deserve it.

I have found courage to claim victory

even as the world announced my defeat.

I have felt a gracious presence

walking beside me in the desert

and because of this,

I have lived an extraordinary life.

And if you have ever said “Yes” to Jesus,

then so have you!

In sharing the “reason for our hope”

we will inevitably wrestle with parts of our story

we don’t like.

It’s tempting to offer an edited,

curated version;

to dig out an airbrush

to smooth over all the imperfections.

But it is most often the parts we want to edit;

the mistakes,

the failures,

the stumbles,

the times we needed mercy,

that make our story worth sharing.

The power of testimony

lies in naming our authentic experience,

even those times when we cry ugly

and forget to use our indoor voices.

When when we take our story out

into a wounded world,

it is those cracked,

imperfect places

that offer an entry point

for someone else to encounter God.

While testimony is simple,

it isn’t always easy.

It doesn’t usually lead to instant affirmation,

praise,

conversion

or even an "atta girl!"

Frankly, in my experience,

it often leads to dead silence,

blank stares,

or polite murmurs,

accompanied by a slow backing away.

We may wonder if our words

or our lives,

make a difference.

But perhaps it helps to remember

that we are never called to harvest,

we are simply called to scatter seeds.

We are called to share a reason for our hope.

That is all.

It may also help to know that someone out there

needs to hear the Gospel story

that only you can tell.

Maybe your story is something big—

like forgiveness,

or healing,

or a lightning bolt conversion that rival’s Paul’s.

But maybe it is something small—

so small,

so fragile,

so ordinary,

it is only visible to one who is searching.

In this work of testimony,

we stand amid our experience,

we stand on the Gospel,

we stand within the sacraments,

and from that vantage point,

we proclaim what we see and believe.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

I have come to see

that the old men in Wednesday night Prayer Service

had it right.

When we encounter Jesus,

we no longer get to stand on the sidelines

hoping to remain invisible.

Having met Jesus,

we cannot remain silent.

In this beautiful,

broken,

hungry world,

our life story might be the only Scripture

someone else reads,

and we cannot keep that book closed.

What sustains us in this risky business

is the knowledge that we do not do this alone.

Anytime we take a step toward Jesus,

we find he is already there,

waiting to welcome us.