A few days ago I went on a hike up Saddle Rock and there was a field trip going on of bunches of 5^th graders. There were predictably the kids who were almost running up those intensely steep trails and those who thought they were going to die from exhaustion only a 1/5^th of the way up. Some of them gave me encouragement to keep going, since they could see the old lady huffing and puffing her way up the hill. And I got to cheer on others, too. It was a lot of fun.

At the top of the saddle, the view opens up and is truly dramatic. For the sake of the kids, there were signs posted saying to go no further on the saddle to the parts that were exposed cliff faces. I think that would have been hard for some of the kids, particularly the ones who do go hiking and climbing with their families a lot. They might know how to be safe in that environment, but this was everyone up there and I can certainly understand why the teachers would say no to this. Not all of the kids would be adequately aware of the dangers to stay safe.

Sometimes that’s true of adults, too! I read a while ago that there were more accidents happening in the national parks, the Grand Canyon in particular, because people were not being adequately careful with the cliff edges. They seemed to think that people are spending so much time indoors or in human-constructed spaces, that they don’t have the lived experience of cliffs, trails, and dirt to know how to be safe around them, particularly when taking selfies. The edge of the Grand Canyon is not the same as a street curb. Both edges, vastly different consequences.

We learn by participating in things. We can learn by hearing, seeing, talking, wondering, but nothing beats participation. Looking at Saddle Rock across the valley is very different than climbing up there. Seeing pictures of the Grand Canyon is very different than being there. So too in our gospel today, our travelers don’t recognize Jesus until they participate in the Holy Meal with him.

And then they got it. They really got the experience and mystery of the resurrection and ran off to tell people about it.

All of Jesus’ teaching, though their hearts were on fire, did not inspire them to go “tell it on the mountain.” They needed to participate and experience it for themselves, not unlike Thomas from last week’s text who needed the experience the wounds of Christ. Thomas experienced Jesus in this very specific, very bodily way and came alive with the witness of the resurrection with his statement, “My Lord and My God.”

I think this is true in our lives, as well. We can read and listen to the Word, and be excited about our faith. Our hearts might even be on fire. We can see what we believe to be God’s miracles in other’s lives. But, when we feel it ourselves, that’s different. Our actual encounters with the Holy are different than just hearing the stories. Then we too may feel that same ring of clarity, “My Lord and my God!” We might even feel the need to go rushing off to tell others about our experience.

For those of us who might be feeling like we’ve never had one of those moments that made us want to run off and tell the good news, I can say for certainty we’re not all hit over the head with big moments like this. But I encourage you to start asking the question ‘Was that God? Was that the Holy showing up for me?’ It’s a way to enter more deeply into our participation in life and you might just be surprised by your own answers.

The reality of participation, though, is it does not come without risk. Saddle Rock and the Grand Canyon are both worthy of participation. When we step out of our lives, our usual environments, we get to experience a taste of God’s much larger story of creation. And there’s real risks when we do. So too with the followers of Jesus in today’s scripture. Remember the disciples were hiding behind locked doors. What are the risks of our faith? What do you fear in following Christ? What are the dangers of our hearts being cracked open by God’s love? A lot, I think. Vulnerable hearts can break and ache for all that our world contains, which includes a lot of real risk and pain.

God’s creation is not without risk, even for the best of us. Throughout the book of Job, our first reading, the big question is ‘Why do bad things happen to good people?’ Logically, we know that the holiest among us would still fall if they were at the Grand Canyon and slipped. We know that God isn’t going to levitate someone because they were good enough to earn special protection from gravity. However, we do still tend to think that way about the big stuff. We ask questions, like ‘Why did I get sick? Did I earn it? Why did I get or not get X,Y, or Z? Did I not pray hard enough?’

We tend to think our actions can protect us from the risks of being alive, as if everything were relatively straightforward like not falling off the lip of a canyon. However, being alive, in the world and in relationship with others means we are at risk in ways that we cannot control. We live in a world of freedom for us, for everyone else, for our creator, and all of creation. The Grand Canyon is spectacular because of its wildness, its stark difference from anything else in our normal lives. And it is its wildness that is the source of the risk. We live in a beautiful world of wonder and danger.

This is the gist of the answer given in the book of Job begins with our text we read today. God is inviting Job (and us) to enter into the story of creation that is bigger than us all of us. In God’s speeches in Job about creation, humans are not only star of this show. The wild things are.

God asks, who shut in the sea with doors when it burst out of the womb? Whatever your answer is for this question, we know for sure it wasn’t any of us. As Christians, we believe in a creator God – the one who made the chaotic, terrifying sea, as well as the one who set limits that contains the sea. We live in a world where the frightening, dangerous things exist alongside the peaceful things in an order that contains and sustains our lives. We live in a world of Grand Canyons that are risky and wild, which are also home to wildflowers and soft breezes in the spring.

In this world, we are not the only ones at risk. We could say God is vulnerable, suffering the sadness and pain of human actions and suffering, suffering the pain of creation’s sufferings. This Earth Day Sunday, we must also name that our planet is vulnerable to us and our excesses. Despite 52 Earth Day celebrations, we struggle to take responsibility for our planet and the damage we cause.

I wonder if we fail to take responsibility in serious ways, because we don’t really believe the risk is real, just like people visiting the Grand Canyon who take a step too far for the sake of a selfie. I wonder if we assume that our behavior is not really that consequential, because we can’t imagine the planet is actually vulnerable. Perhaps we imagine that God will swoop in like a helicopter parent and save us from our own folly. However, God does not spare us from pain. God enters in with us in our dark valleys and walks through them with us into the promise of new life. Those are the promises of God. The work of following God’s call to love and to create justice in the world is for us.

Our participation matters. It matters for our faith, like our travelers in today’s gospel, whose eyes and lives were opened when they participated in the meal with Jesus. It matters in Job, as his life is also opened up to new freedom and love with God, because he wouldn’t give up in his honest wrestling with God. It matters for when you’re at the Grand Canyon so that you can not only revel in the wonder of the place, but also be aware enough of the real risks to keep yourself safe.

But it’s not always about us. We’re not the only ones at risk. How could we not hurt God when we act without sufficient care for others in the world? How could we not hurt God when we continue to harm the world God so loves? Our ways of being in the world, the way we participate matters because all of creation and God are vulnerable to us.

God’s gift to us is a beautiful world full of love and freedom to be who we were made to be. That involves risk, continually stepping forward in faith to answer God’s call for us. Perhaps our gift to God in return is the gift of doing justice, the gift of our care for all people, and the gift of authentic and earnest stewardship of our gorgeous planet.

We don’t know how to do this. Not truly. We need God to open and guide our willing and listening hearts. And for sure, we cannot do it alone! I’m so glad you’re here in community so that together we can listen to God’s word, listen to the stirrings of our hearts, share with each other the nudgings we feel, and find ways to go out and participate. Your hands, your feet, your hearts matter to God, to the planet, and all those who share this wonderous life with you. Let us embrace the risk of participation for the love of God and all that is.  

AMEN