ARE YOU A FAN OR A FOLLOWER?
Albert Einstein was a German-born physicist who lived from 1879 until 1955. He’s credited with discovering the theory of general relativity, which created a quite a stir in his field. In 1921 he received the Nobel Prize in physics. Albert Einstein was brilliant. In fact, he was so brilliant that the very word “Einstein” is now synonymous with the word “genius.” It was common sense that most often tripped up Albert Einstein.
Many years ago, Albert Einstein boarded a train in Princeton, New Jersey. Before long, the conductor came strolling down the aisle, punching the tickets of all the passengers. When he came to Albert Einstein, Einstein reached inside his vest pocket for his ticket, but the ticket wasn’t there. So he reached inside his pants pockets, but the ticket wasn’t there either. He opened up his briefcase and looked inside, but still there was no ticket. Then he checked the seat beside him, but the ticket was nowhere to be found.
Finally the conductor said, “Dr. Einstein, I know who you are. We all know who you are. I’m sure you bought a ticket. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just let it slide today.” Albert Einstein smiled and nodded appreciatively.
The conductor continued making his way down the aisle, punching the tickets of all the passengers. Yet as he prepared to move on to the next car, he noticed Albert Einstein down on his hands and knees, checking the floor around his seat, still looking for his ticket. The conductor rushed back and said, “Dr. Einstein, don’t worry! I’m sure you bought a ticket. I know who you are.”
Albert Einstein then looked at the conductor and said, “Young man, I, too, know who I am. What I don’t know…is where I’m going!”
It’s important to know where we’re going, is it not? I mean, we all know where we’re going in an eschatological sense, don’t we? That’s why we’re all gathered here this morning. A number of years ago, an Easter-week edition of Newsweek magazine reported that 87% of all Americans believe that Jesus Christ was raised from the dead. Thus, preachers and ushers all across the land know that much of that 87% of the population will be coming to church this morning, trying to find a seat. We know where we’re going. We’re going to heaven. After all, isn’t that the point of the resurrection? Isn’t that why we believe in Jesus Christ in the first place?
The Son of God came into the world some 2000 years ago. Many began to listen to him as he taught in the land of Galilee. They walked beside him and watched in amazement as large crowds of people began to appear wherever he was. They watched in awe as he did what no one had ever done before – restore sight to the blind, heal the sick, mend the lame, and raise the dead. They even followed him to Jerusalem to celebrate the feast of the Passover and watched in wonder as thousands cheered him and welcomed him and waved palm branches in the air and called him “Messiah.”
Then they watched in fear as an angry mob surrounded him one night and arrested him for blasphemy and sedition. They did what any sane person would do. They fled in terror, abandoning him to his fate. Maybe they were still on the edge of the crowd that Friday morning when he appeared before the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate. Maybe they heard the crowd turn against him and demand his execution. Maybe they even watched from afar as he was nailed to a cross and hung on it to die.
Jesus wasn’t the only thing to die on that Friday afternoon. So did his followers’ hopes that in him, something new and beautiful had come to earth. Hearing him teach, watching him heal the sick, mend the lame and raise the dead, seeing him restore peace to a man possessed by a demon – why, one could almost imagine a world like that: a world where goodness and kindness and gentleness prevail, instead of meanness and cruelty and violence. One could almost imagine a world where children are fed and the sick are cared for; a world where there are no concealed weapons and innocent children are not gunned down in the streets; a world where the elderly are secure and where precious resources are invested in life, not weapons of mass destruction. That’s what died on that first Good Friday. Jesus died, and so did his followers’ hope for a better world.
And then there came reports that he was alive. If he was alive, then so was the dream. If he was alive, then so was the hope. If he was alive, then that meant that they had the hope of life everlasting. I mean, that is what he promised, is it not? And if he was alive, then so was their hope for a better world. Thus, there was much they still had to do. They would have to take over the mission and ministry Jesus started. As Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, once put it, “The resurrection of Jesus Christ is an eschatological event that makes possible a radical new style of life.” Again, “The resurrection of Jesus Christ is an eschatological event that makes possible a radical new style of life.”
In other words, we seek to emulate in our own lives the life of Jesus Christ. That’s the radical new style of life Rowan Williams was talking about. We seek to emulate in our own lives the life of Jesus Christ. Easter is all about the risen Lord. Thanks to him, we now know where we are going in an eschatological sense. Now there is life after death. One day, we shall abide in that realm of God we call heaven. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s all about Jesus on Easter Sunday. His resurrection necessarily evokes in us a response of gratitude and thanksgiving. Thus, I feel compelled to ask you now: are you a fan or a follower? Are you a fan of Jesus Christ, or are you a follower of Jesus Christ?
The most basic definition of a fan is this: an enthusiastic admirer. A fan is nothing more than an enthusiastic admirer. For example, I’ve been a St. Louis Cardinals baseball fan since my family moved to St. Louis in June of 1968. I might add that it’s easier to be a St. Louis Cardinals fan than it is to be, say, a Pittsburgh Pirates fan or a Cleveland Indians fan because the Cardinals win so much more…but I digress. As a Cardinals fan I am nothing more than an enthusiastic admirer. I do not take part in any of the games, I do not contribute to wins and losses, and I am absolutely, positively not allowed on the field! In other words, being a fan costs me nothing.
A fan is nothing more than an enthusiastic admirer. So I ask you again, are you a fan of Jesus Christ, or are you a follower of Jesus Christ? The answer to that question makes all the difference in the world. You see, Jesus was never really interested in having a lot of fans. When he defines the kind of relationship he wants us to have with him, the term “enthusiastic admirer” is never listed as an option. I like the way Kyle Idleman puts it in his book, Not a Fan. He writes:
My concern is that many of our churches in America have gone from being sanctuaries to becoming stadiums. And every week all the fans come to the stadium where they cheer for Jesus, but (they) have no interest in truly following him. The biggest threat to the church today is fans who call themselves Christians but aren’t actually interested in following Christ. They want to be close enough to Jesus to get all the benefits, but not so close that it requires anything from them.
We are called to be followers of Jesus Christ, not just fans of Jesus Christ. How does one move from being a fan to becoming a follower? I think a man named Chester Eastep describes it very well in a story he wrote called, “Easter in Nosara.” He writes:
Like many people, I thought my retirement years would be a time of hard-earned leisure. (By the way, the word “retirement” is nowhere to be found in the Bible.) But two things altered my course: a violent storm at sea and an unfinished church.
My wife Martha and I wintered on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica. Strolling through the town of Nosara, we came upon two fairly new cinderblock walls standing among some scrub palmettos. I was curious, so I stopped a man and asked him about them. He explained that the parish had run out of money and couldn’t complete the church. Then he pointed to a ragged thatched-roof structure supported by four precarious posts. “For now, we worship there,” he said, “when it doesn’t rain.”
I stared at the half-built church and the oddest notion came to me: somehow I should help complete the church. I was gung-ho at first, but my enthusiasm soon waned. The parishioners were not as forthcoming as I’d hoped – most worked long hours for little pay – and soliciting people back home was difficult. I let the project lapse.
I wasn’t thinking about the church at all one Sunday a couple years later when I joined two friends and a guide named Pablo for a morning of offshore fishing. We had pretty good luck, and then Pablo suggested that we head in. When he pulled the motor’s starter cord, the engine just sputtered and died. Another pull yanked the cord clear out of the motor casing. “Oh, no,” I thought, squinting back at the shore, which was by now just a thin dark streak on the horizon.
We had no radio on board, and all we had in the way of tools was a pair of pliers and a Swiss Army knife. Pablo labored well into the afternoon on that motor. Finally he threw the pliers down in despair and said, “We’d better drop anchor. Maybe it will hold us here until help arrives.” The water was deep and the line wasn’t long enough to reach the bottom. Soon a stiff breeze kicked up and pushed us even further from shore. The wind grew stronger and colder, stinging us with sea spray. Sleep was not an option.
“Oh, Lord,” I prayed, “please save us. But if it’s my time, please be with me now.” Then in my mind I saw that little unfinished church and I was filled with aching regret. It was a vow I hadn’t kept – a promise between myself and God. It was a regret, apparently, that I would take to the grave.
I didn’t bargain with God, but I told myself that if I somehow got out of this alive, I would do everything in my power to finish the church. A sudden peace came into my heart. The storm continued to pound, but I was no longer afraid. Then late in the afternoon, we heard the roar of an airplane engine. It flew just above us and dipped its wing to acknowledge our presence. A short time later, over the crest of a wave, we saw lights. It was a ship in the distance, coming to rescue us.
The next day we were back onshore with our families. The day after that, I threw myself into the church-building project with renewed determination. Money dribbled in and construction resumed with farmers and fishermen pitching in when they could spare the time.
Nine years later, the church was completed. On Easter Sunday 1990, 250 people showed up to worship. We sang hymns through the night and when dawn broke over the Pacific, many of us were still there. I couldn’t help but think of another ocean sunrise on a morning when all hope seemed lost. I had been delivered from despair to hope.
We have been delivered from despair to hope as well, thanks to Christ’s rising from the dead. We have the hope of life everlasting and we have the hope of a better world in the here and now. That should make a difference in the way we order our lives, don’t you think? It should make us respond in gratitude and dedication rather than apathy and entitlement. So I ask you again: Are you a fan or a follower? Are you willing to give the best you’ve got to give in the name of Jesus Christ, or are you content to simply be an enthusiastic admirer? Amen.
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