“The Great Relay Race ”

• Scriptural Reference: Hebrews 11:29-12:2
• August 19, 2007

While in college, I frequently took a drives along the Blue Ridge Parkway since it was only about a mile from the house I rented. I especially loved it when I’d go early in the morning. Often the weather conditions would be just right so that looking east from the escarpment around Blowing Rock you wouldn’t see the piedmont of North Carolina. Instead, you’d see a sea of clouds. In fact, looking north and south along the ridge along which the Parkway ran, it looked like a long, narrow island rising from a white, billowing sea. Sometimes, though, as I’d drive back, the clouds would rise from the valley and completely engulf the car so that I couldn’t see three feet in front of me. Then the awesome feeling changed. Rather than the awesome beauty when viewed from above, I was struck with the awesome danger of how totally those clouds could take over.

I don’t think such images were far from the mind of the writer of Hebrews when he spoke of being surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. He’s just recounted a litany of heroes, as a matter of fact, recounted their awesome deeds, and held them up for the reader to consider. What those heroes did was beautiful and often dangerous. And consider, too, that if they had NOT done what they did, we wouldn’t be here today, the writer says. In fact, their deeds live on. Their faithfulness lives on. The subsequent generation rides on that collection of faithfulness like a ship on the sea. And the faith they gave testimony to embraces them, surrounds them, engulfs them like clouds in the mountains.

This doesn’t mean that the current generation should become paranoid, though. It also doesn’t mean that the current generation should erect memorials to the heroes of the past. It doesn’t mean that they should initiate a campaign to put plaques on the places where those heroes sat in worship. Instead, the writer says, “Let us lay aside anything that would slow us down or trip us up and run with patience the race set out before us.” In other words, this isn’t about visiting the Cooperstown Hall of Fame; it’s about playing baseball, yourself. Or, to use a metaphor that the folks of the late first century in the Mediterranean world would have understood, let’s grab the baton that’s being passed to us so we can run OUR leg of this relay race.

Remember that the Olympics began in Greece and that the original audience of Hebrews would have been very familiar with track and field events. They would have known all about runners competing in competition. And one of the oldest track and field events is the relay race. It probably originated with military couriers, or runners, who were given messages to take to other commanders on the battle field, or to the city state back behind the lines, to bring news or to suggest changes in tactics or strategy in the middle of combat. If there was a great distance to cover, one runner would hand the message off to another, fresh runner, who’d then take the message on, either to a new runner or to its destination.

The relay race didn’t hand off messages, but they did hand off batons. We still do it. In a relay race, it’s imperative for each person to do his or her part well. You have your folks who are good at setting a pace, those who are good at maintaining the pace, and those who anchor the relay who can sprint really fast to close out the race. But the whole thing falls apart if they can’t pass off the baton smoothly. A dropped baton is a lost race.

So, much training goes into a smooth pass-off. The waiting runner watches the predecessor as he or she rounds the last bend, carefully times his or her steps so that he can begin running and achieve maximum speed just as the following runner hands off the baton. He sticks his hand out behind him, fingers splayed out wide, waiting for the follower to slap the baton firmly into the waiting palm. Then the last runner has to let go of the baton as the next runner grasps it. Of course it would be absurd for the trailer to hold on. That would mean that the guy in front would drop it, or lose a step. It would cost the team the race. Letting go is as important as grabbing hold.

This is a real good word for the church these days. We’re in a relay race. Generations of Christians have gone on before the current generation and in so many ways have left us a strong and enduring legacy. They’ve carried the baton, the message, very well.

A new generation, however, waits to run its leg of the race. At the present moment, that generation is getting up to speed, and when the time comes, the folks finishing up their leg must pass the baton on. BUT – the ones who are finishing their leg have to let go of the baton.

In many places, the previous runners are having a hard time letting go of the baton. My friend John Tadlock works as a conflict resolution consultant with the VBMB. A church in the BGAV was having some internal conflict so they called up the board and the board sent Tad over to listen to them and advise them. Tad listened and discovered that this is what happened. The church had told the pastor that they wanted to reach the new wave of younger people who were moving into the community. “Do whatever you need to do to attract those younger people,” they told the pastor. So the pastor went out and found a twenty-something young man to direct their music program. When he introduced the young man to the choir, all of whom were over 65, they were decidedly cool. Later, they informed the pastor that the young man was too inexperienced and therefore they would find their own minister of music. So they went out and found a man who graduated from seminary in 1968. He was experienced. Tad asked them, “What year is it at this church?”

After a moment of silence one of them said, “About 1974.”

“And what year are the young folks around you living in?”

“Okay, we get your point.”

That church’s leadership had not wanted to let go of the baton, and that church has steadily declined over the last couple of years even though they sit on one of the busiest roads in that town. If you can’t let go, your hands will never be open to receive.

On the other hand, the new runner has to be willing to take hold. Another church I know of in Virginia called an innovative pastor who in turn told the older generation what kind of changes they were going to have to make to reach the huge influx of non-Christians moving into their community. To their credit, the older generation made the changes and generously funded them. They built a new praise center, bought state of the art sound systems and media systems, even dropped Baptist from their name. They changed their structure, their church polity, and their connections outside that they supported.

They church experienced a huge burst of growth, from a membership of around 400 to over 2500 in just six years. But now, the church is back down to around 1000. Why? The older generation is beginning to die off and these are the folks who knew how to give financially to the work of the church. They handed off the baton well, but the younger ones haven’t stepped up to take on leadership, the various volunteer slots – they’re too busy with their jobs – and, because they have such huge debt, credit card and otherwise, the younger generation has not learned how to give of their finances. So the church has had to fire staff and cut back on programming.

You see, it cuts both ways in the Great Relay Race. Yes, the older generation is correct when it says that the younger folks must step up to the plate – but they have to let go when they do and let the younger ones do what they deem is appropriate. At the same time, yes, the old folks need to let go and not try to duplicate a time that has passed, but if the younger ones don’t learn the kind of sacrificial giving that characterizes our older folks, they won’t be able to afford all the bright new ideas they have. A letting go requires a taking hold and a taking hold requires a letting go.

I have a friend, Tim Lawson, who lives just south of Annapolis, Maryland. While he was growing up, Tim and his dad loved to go sailing on the Chesapeake. They became a great team and competed in a number of regattas while Tim was in middle and high school. When Tim came to his senior year in high school, he began to wonder if his dad would ever let him captain the boat in competition. Tim had learned the ropes, quite literally, and felt like he could add a few twists his dad hadn’t thought of. Mr. Lawson, on the other hand, kept putting Tim off saying that he wasn’t experienced enough yet to captain a boat in competition.

Tim had a close friend by the name of Carl Grayson who also loved to sail with his dad and Tim and Carl had the same complaint about their dads: they just didn’t want to relinquish the helm, even thought the sons were proving to be quite good sailers.

Then the time came for the Blue Fin Yacht club annual point-to-point regatta in the Chesapeake. This was a race the Lawsons and Graysons had been in several times. They’d always finished way down in the pack and Tim and Carl both fantasized about the day they’d actually win the regatta. Well, evidently, Mr. Lawson and Mr. Grayson had gotten together, because just before the point-to-point, they came to Tim and Carl and both announced that in the coming regatta, the boys would be captains of their respective boats.

Tim and Carl immediately set about studying charts and the reports concerning wind and tides. In doing so, Tim had an idea. There is an island that lies in the middle of the first half of the course. Just south of that island lies the point of a peninsula. Usually, the fleet of the regatta would go to the north of the island, which is always generally the windward side given the prevailing winds. Tim began speculating, though, that on the day of the race, the tide would be going out at the same time the regatta would be passing by the island. Because of the shape of the island, it required the sailors to turn more or less into the wind, to take a northerly tack before they could come about and head with the wind back south. Tacking always requires much skill, which is one thing that competition likes, but it also slows one down. Tim reasoned that if they could go to the leeward to the island, they would lose the wind, yes, but the island converging on the peninsula just to the south would funnel the outgoing tide so that the water would flow at a high speed, carrying the boat rapidly and in a straighter line toward the south leg.

Tim called the regatta organizers and made sure it wasn’t against the rules to go to the leeward of Green Hump Island. “No,” came the answer, “It isn’t against the rules, but you’ll be becalmed back there and fall way behind.” Tim didn’t think so.

Tim shared his idea with his father. Mr. Lawson looked skeptical. He scratched his head. Then he said, “Son, I’ve already registered you as captain and me as mate. If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll just have to follow my captain. It sounds a bit crazy to me, but let’s try it.”

When the day of the regatta came, Tim saw that Carl was also still captain of his boat. They would be the only ones to go to the leeward of Green Hump Island, so at least if it didn’t work, he wouldn’t be alone.

The race got started and the fleet sailed off before a strong breeze. Tim shouted commands to his dad as the sails filled and as spray launched over the bow. The sun sparkled off the water and Tim loved looking at all the sails, taut against the wind, and the hulls of the boats cutting through the water. Soon, Green Hump Island loomed up ahead, and as the fleet did its usual turn into the wind to tack around the island, Tim and Mr. Lawson diverged and headed toward the other side of Green Hump. But when Tim looked for Carl, he saw that he was sticking with the main fleet. Tim waved at Carl and Carl only waved back. He wasn’t sure, but Tim thought he saw Carl shrug.

Sure enough, just as the trees of Green Hump hid the rest of the fleet to the north, the wind died and Tim and Mr. Lawson lost way. The sail hung sort of limp. Then, occasional breezes would hit the canvas from the bow. They were turning with the channel slightly into the wind. Tim ordered Mr. Lawson to reduce sail. He didn’t want the wind blowing against them to take away whatever momentum the tide would give them.

Mr. Lawson looked skeptical as they crawled along with barely enough headway to maintain steerage. But as they neared the point of the peninsula, they both saw that they were making great speed relative to the land. The tide was sweeping them into the narrows between the island and the point. As they neared the eastern most point of Green Hump, Tim saw the rest of the fleet, a mile and a half to the north still tacking against the wind.

Suddenly, the northerly breeze caught their sails. Tim gave the order and he and Mr. Lawson brought their boat about and sailed with the wind, beating the rest of the fleet by almost two miles to the finish. It was the greatest margin of victory in the history of the 75 year regatta. In fact, even though the majority of boats take the “Lawson Passage” whenever the tides correspond with the regatta, their record still stands.

At the awards dinner that evening, Tim asked Carl why he hadn’t come with him. “Did your dad take back control when he found out what we were planning?”

Carl looked down. “No. I chickened out. I decided that on my first command, I wasn’t going to take any chances.”

Look, folks. We’ve had some great captains precede us. They’ve run the course so well. Now, we must take up command, and assume the responsibility for taking the appropriate risks. We’re surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. They attest to the success of faith when it is practiced, so let us, too, grab the baton and run our leg. A great prize awaits us!