Introduction. Overall, I’m scared of riding on motorcycles. I find them to be dangerous, without the security produced by multi-sided metal vehicles with seatbelts. Last year I took a spin around town with Emily’s husband Matt on his bullet bike, and while hanging onto him for dear life as he sped down 400 East at 80 miles per hour, wondered if I would ever see my family again.

Well, I lived, and I love this story about an Episcopal priest "who went shopping for a Harley Davidson motorcycle." He was told by the salesman about the bike’s "speed, acceleration, risk, and the women who like men that ride them." At some point he was asked what he did for a living, and he told the salesman that he was a priest. Immediately, he heard the salesman change his language and tone of voice. Now the priest heard new selling points–"good gas mileage, practicality, and visibility. The minister wrote this about his experience: ‘Have we told the world that being a Christian is more like riding a lawn mower than a motorcycle? Is the life of faith more safe and sound or dangerous and exciting?...The common image of the church is pure lawn mower–slow, deliberate, plodding. Our task is to take the church out on the open road, give it the gas, and see what the old baby will do!" (Maxie Duncan in Dale Galloway’s Leading with Vision, Beacon Hill Press, 1999; written about by Tom Miller, Aha!, Jul/Aug/Sep 2004, p. 30)

Move 1. People do have certain thoughts when they think about religion, don’t they? For example, people hear "faith" and get certain images in their heads.

Some people hear "faith" and think of it mainly as thoughts, feelings, or maybe prayers. They think of it as "belief," but stationary belief. In other words, they feel that "faith" lies in the hands of those who sit in a study or a chapel or a monastery; that it falls exclusively under the purview of those who write or teach or pray.

Others hear the word "faith" and think of ritual. They think of those who go to church every Sunday, of those who read their Bible regularly, of those who are faithful in giving a certain amount of their income to the church. When they think of "faithfulness" to the rituals of religion, they have images of people who do "all the things they should be doing."

Others hear the word "faith" in a totally different way. They hear it and think of worse than riding a motorcycle, but riding it blindfolded with no hands. They think of "faith" as stepping off the cliff without a parachute, because they have heard people say, "We just need to have faith to do this or that, and it will all work out," and they know in their hearts and minds that, with or without faith, it probably will not work out at all.

Many people indeed equate "faith" either with being unrealistic or with being boring, like mowing the lawn. And so they have negative images of people who claim to be men and women of faith.

Move 2. Never mind the fact that thoughts and prayers do have great value. Never mind the fact that ritual can be very helpful in fostering a closeness with God and compassion toward neighbors. Still, faith is more. Faith is closer to being a verb than a noun.

Yet it must take risks that aren’t always grounded in hard proof. Consider the faith, or lack thereof, of the impala. In the wild, the impala, a slightly-build African antelope, can jump to a height of over 10 feet and cover a distance of greater than 30 feet per jump. In the zoo, however, it can be contained by placing around it a wall of only 3 feet high, because it will not jump if it cannot see where its feet will land. (from Tom Miller, Aha!, Jul/Aug/Sep 2004, p. 30) For many people, faith is standing around doing nothing because risks can’t be taken, despite pretty good evidence that something can be done successfully.

Faith is fostered in prayer, and in ritual, but it also must be active and a little risky, like riding a motorcycle.

Move 3. When we set out in faith, we are changed. We become new people when we move in faith.

We see the example of Abraham in our scripture reading from Hebrews today. We might remember from our Sunday School lessons on the book of Genesis, in addition to our text from Hebrews today, that Abraham is called by God, out of the blue, really, to pick up from his home country, and go to a new land. We might remember that he is asked to leave security behind and head off to a new horizon. We know that Abraham does set out, on a wing and a prayer, hearing God’s call and responding. We don’t know whether that call is a booming voice from the sky, or a gentle urging and restlessness of spirit, but we see him start on a journey that leads to an incredible life adventure.

We are heirs of Abraham, and of God’s callings. And so we all have, or will have, an Abraham moment, that point where God’s urgings cause us to set off in new directions. Some of us remember those occasions clearly–that night at summer camp where we commit our lives to Christ; that time at the top of a mountain where we just know; that miracle of physical or emotional healing that can only come from God. Others of us might not have clear moments, but remember general seasons where we gradually discover that we are new creatures because of what God is doing in our lives.

And when we are called by God, and set out, we often find that we cannot go back to the way we were. Any who have ever moved might know this experience. We can go back and visit. We can even, in some cases, maintain one or two of the close friendships. But for the most part, we can never go back to that home and have things be the same as they were. We can cherish wonderful memories, we can stay in touch, but in our new journeys and experiences we change if ever so slightly. And when God places a claim on our hearts, we become new creatures who can’t be confined to old ways of doing things. We begin to desire a better country, as the writer of Hebrews states–a heavenly homeland.

Most of us know from personal experience that we are different as a result of recognizing God’s love for us, and different again because of our new ways of looking at the world, of treating ourselves and others.

Move 4. Now this difference does not mean "perfect" or "above it all." The amazing thing, as Christians who are followers in faith of Jesus, is that perfection is not required.

Perfection certainly doesn’t characterize the life of Abraham. In fact, other words come to mind, like "fear," as when Abraham has his wife tell the Egyptians, the people with whom they seek refuge, that she is his sister, so that Abraham won’t be killed on account of his wife’s beauty. Words like "unbelief" also come to mind, as when Abraham, because his wife is seemingly unable to conceive a child, decides to become the father of a baby boy through his wife’s maid-servant, hoping to speed along God’s promise that he will have children and be the father of many nations. Perfection does not characterize Abraham, though it is often how he is remembered.

And perfection is what is often expected of followers of Jesus. Such high standards, that others set or that we set for ourselves, often keep us from risking, fearing that mistakes might be made. Maybe the expectation of perfection is why rituals and sacrifices in religion seem more important than adventures and journeys–rituals can be done properly, correctly; while adventures are bound to have their ups and downs, their mountains and valleys, their successes and failures. Such erratic and "all-over-the-map" behavior does not sit well with many people.

That’s just something we’ll have to get over. Perfect rituals and correct worship–the prophet Isaiah speaks clearly on this one–are abominations in God’s sight when they are followed by acts of injustice and meanness and ugliness. In fact, true faith, true adventure, motorcycle rides, are laid out by God through the mouth of Isaiah–cease to do evil, learn to do good. In other words, don’t be self-righteous and holier-than-thou–simply learn to do good, a lifetime quest indeed. True faith, verbalized by Isaiah, is even more--seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.

Faithfulness, leading a life of faith, comes full circle here in Isaiah, for it is far from perfection, as well as far from boring. Willingness to risk in Jesus’ name, and willingness to rest in his arms when we fall flat on our faces, can give courage to set out, or continue, on an adventure of a lifetime.

Conclusion. Please don’t take the message today to mean that prayer doesn’t have an important place in a life of faith–I mentioned a few weeks ago that I believe we should be persistent and annoying in prayer. Please don’t take it to mean that worship and offerings are not important–I find worship to be an important place to recharge my batteries, and I and Monica give joyfully to the ministries of this church. But please take it to mean that unrealistic standards of perfection are to be cast aside, and that action and adventure are crucial.

We will have our adventures of faith in the same forest, but on several different trails. We will do them in trust and faith and love, though we will not always be full of trust and faith and love. We will, however, be on the journeys because of the one who journeyed with our world 2,000 years ago, and who journeys with us today. We may not know what turns in the trail we might take, might be forced to take, but we have hope that all trails ultimately will lead to the home of this one we know as Savior.