Years ago Walt Kelly, the originator of the comic-strip character Pogo, pictured his little possum fishing in a swamp. A duck comes along and asks, “Has you seen my cousin?” Pogo answers, “Your cousin?” “Yes, my cousin. He’s migrating north by kiddy car.” Pogo asks, “By kiddy car?” “Yep. He’s afraid to fly. He’s afraid he’s gonna fall off.” “Then why don’t he swim?” Pogo responds. “Well he don’t like to swim because ‘cause he gets seasick.” With a measure of insight, Pogo states, “When your cousin decided to be a duck, he chose the wrong business.”

That little comic strip is a “beatitude of life.” “Blessed is the duck who, when he decides to be a duck, does what a duck is supposed to do!” Translate duck into disciple and you will understand the point of this sermon.

Doing what we are supposed to do as disciples is the message from God’s Word. We are new people in Christ. But, what does it mean for us to do what a Christian is supposed to do? How do we decide what our faith calls for – especially awe live in the community of faith, the church, to which Jesus has called us.

In the first chapter of his Letter to the Colossians, Paul tells us who Jesus is and what Jesus has done for us. In verse 24, Paul makes the astonishing claim that in his sufferings, he somehow completing the sufferings of Jesus on our behalf. We looked at this verse two weeks ago.

Paul is not pointing to himself as a co-redeemer. But he is saying that there is a cost involved in getting the message out to a lost and hurting but resistant world. This is a cost Paul is more than willing to pay – and in fact – has already paid to a great extent. When Paul writes this letter, he is probably already in prison in Rome awaiting trail and execution. His body is in a cell, but his spirit is free.

A later prisoner, Dr. Victor Fankl survived three grim years at Auschwitz and other Nazi death camps. In his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl reflected back on those dark months and offers his insightful observation about people like Paul: “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.

It’s the inner decisions, not the outer influences that make us into the kind of people we are. Paul is in prison. He is facing the sentence of death. He could have had every reason to be self-absorbed. But, instead, his heart and mind reaches beyond his cell in Rome to the small churches the Lychus Valley east of Ephesus. He tells the Colossians: “For I want you to know how great a struggle I have on your behalf, and for those who are at Laodicea, and for all those who have not personally seen my face.”

Why does Paul care so much? This Colossian church was not an important church in an important city. Colossae wasn’t much of a town. In the old days it had served as a stop on the main road that led east from Ephesus. Travelers to Sardis and Pergamum used to lodge in Colossae before taking the road that ran north. Colossae functioned like one of those old towns in Arizona or New Mexico that used to attract tourists to motor-courts built like Indian Villages and feed them in colorful diners. But then the efficient, straight-road-building Romans came. The Romans bypassed the twisty old Route 66 where Colossae lay and built the Roman version of an interstate. Colossae was left to shrivel into economic insignificance. A massive earthquake in 60 A.D. leveled the entire Colossae-Laodicea area. The people of Laodicea did a magnificent job of rebuilding and restoring their city. But Colossae wasn’t rebuilt. Nobody bothered.

But Paul bothers. He bothers because there are people living in Colossae who belong to Jesus Christ. This makes them his brothers and sisters. And these people are in trouble. So nNot only does Paul bother. He says that he actually “struggles on their behalf.”

The word Paul uses for struggle is a very vivid word. It is agon, from which comes our own word agony. Paul is fighting a hard battle for his friends. Since Paul is in prison. It is mostly a spiritual struggle. It is an agony in prayer.

Now Paul is “Mr. Action Man.” He must have longed to go to Colossae himself. He must have longed to face the false teachers head on and deal with their arguments and recall those who were straying from the truth. But Paul is in prison. He can’t do anything for the Colossians but pray and write.

But, of course, prayer is action. So Paul wrestles in prayer for those whom he cannot be with. Those of you who have sought to pray on a consistent basis – and who intercede for others – know that prayer is hard work. When we are separated by time, distance and circumstances from those whom we long to help, there is always one way left to help them and that is the way the prayer. But it is hard if you truly engage yourself in what is going on.

Paul is not offering a shallow “I’m thinking about you,” which is as deep as many of us are willing to go in our concern even for family and close friends in need. Paul’s agony comes through deep intercession, prolonged, penetrating, time-and-energy-consuming, emotion- draining—the kind of praying that is a channel for the mystery of the fullness of God in Christ to fill the needs of others. That’s a powerful gift for us to give.

Paul was consumed by his concern for the church. As a pastor, I think can relate to what Paul is saying here, although certainly on a much smaller scale. The agonies of intercessory prayer and the agonies of spiritual struggle are real. There is a constant struggle going on for the soul of the church —every church and every denomination of believers.

As your pastor, I take my shepherding seriously. I know that I have a duty to duty to shield from false teachers, guard the truth and accurately teach the faith. Every sermon involves a struggle to get it right.

Two weeks ago, I shared with you the intense, spiritual attack I went through at the foundation of Moorpark Presbyterian Church.

I also have a duty in the larger church where the struggle is just as real and the lack of health is sometimes much more evident than it is here. As the chair of our Presbytery’s Committee on Ministry, I am regularly exposed to stuff I’d rather not know and am made to deal with stuff I’d rather not deal with.

On an even larger level, next month, I will attend the General Assembly, the national meeting of the Presbyterian Church, as a member of the resource team for Presbyterians for Renewal. If the past is any measure, I will experience sleepless nights, long hours, and the frustration of trying to work in such a polarized national church.

The goal of this struggle, in action, in involvement and in prayer, is a healthy church. That’s Paul’s goal and it is ours. In Colossians 2:1-5, Paul talks about what a church looks like when it’s healthy. We’ll start this today and continue it next week.

What makes a healthy church? What should we pray and work for?

Paul says first that the church should be filled with courageous hearts. Paul says that he prays so that that the Colossian’s “hearts may be encouraged.”

The word which he uses is parakalein. Sometimes parakalein means to comfort, sometimes to exhort. Always at the back of it there is an idea of enabling a person to meet some difficult situation with confidence and with gallantry.

Balliol College is one of the oldest colleges in Oxford. It was in front of Balliol, on October 16, 1555 that Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worchester and Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of London were burned at the stake by Queen Mary. Mary Tudor, or Bloody Mary, was trying to restore England to the Papacy.

The doors of Balliol College still show the scorch marks of the fire. They are still there.

The night before the execution, the Mayor of Oxford, offered to keep Latimer company throughout the night. But the reformer refused this kindness, saying: "No, tonight I shall sleep as soundly as ever I did. Tomorrow my breakfast may be somewhat sharp, but my supper will be most sweet." He meant of course that his execution would be painful but it would bring him into the presence of his Lord and Savior.

The next morning, Latimer and Ridley were led out "to witness a last good confession". After a time of prayer, the men were bound to the stake and the fire lit. Here were Latimer’s last words as the flames rose, “Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle by God's grace in England, as I trust shall never be put out.”

The result of such a firm witness is that the candle of biblical truth was lit not only in England but in America as well. And it is Paul’s prayer that the Church may be brought to that courage which can cope with any situation. Through our encouragement, we can give that gift to each other.

There is the encouragement of words and there is also the encouragement of presence – of being there for each another. Paul says that a healthy church is also a church in which the members are knit together in love. I love that phrase.

Without love there is no real Church. Methods of church government and ritual are not what matter. Even praise music and electric guitars will one day pass away. Things change from time to time and from place to place. The one mark which distinguishes a true Christian is love for God and for the body. When love dies, the Church dies.

Love within a church is a magnetic power -- for all of us are longing to find a place where we are loved -- not for what we can contribute but for who we are.

This is what the church is to be. That is the goal. So, in order to “get the picture in my head” I made a list of what I think true love in the body of Christ means,

We treasure each other

We spotlight gifts and abilities rather than faults and failures

We truly celebrate the gifts and blessings of others without feeling resentment

We rally around each other in times of sadness and loss

We allow people to have “bad days”

We are quick to forgive

We act in kindness toward each other

We defend each other

We are willing to do things differently than we would necessarily choose for the honor of Christ

And we listen to a list like this and wonder how we love better rather than moaning because we are not better loved.

For “Blessed is the disciple who, when she decides to be a disciple, does what a disciple is supposed to do!”

That includes the agony of prayer and what it does to us. When we pray for others, the Lord tends to ask the hard questions about our own lives: “Do you have you the gift you’re asking for for others? Where do you need reconciling love in your own life? It’s difficult to pray that people be knit together in love if we are unraveled with discord ourselves A prayer like Paul’s forces me to list out the people to whom I need to be knit in love. “Lord, begin with me and relationships. What I want for my church, start with me!” Be bold to pray like that! For “Blessed is the disciple who, when he is called to be a disciple, does what a disciple is supposed to do!”

It’s hard.

Is it worth it?

Yes it is.

For a healthy church is also the church that knows, “When you’ve said Jesus, you’ve said it all.” Paul says that the result of being knit together in love is that we will attain to all the wealth that comes from the full assurance of understanding, resulting in a true knowledge of God’s mystery, that is, Christ Himself. We’ll talk more about this wisdom and knowledge next Sunday.

But this morning let’s stay with love. This is the love that attracts others. This is the love that defines the church. This is the love that refuses to shoot its wounded – what an appropriate drama.

I've used the example before but we may need to hear it again. It sometimes seems that there are two kinds of churches in the world just as there are two kinds of athletic gyms. If you've ever gone into a gym -- I walked by one once -- you know what I mean.

There are some gyms that are clearly designed for people who don't much need to be there. They aren't places where overweight, under-toned people can come and work out. (They might sweat on the machines. They might be an eyesore.) Those gyms aren't for people who obviously need to be there. They are places for people to show off how good they look in spandex.

Some churches are the same way. They aren't meant for people who look like they need a gospel of forgiveness and restoration. They are for people to put on the spiritual equivalent of spandex and parade their perfection. Hurting people are seen as an embarrassment.

But this should never happen in a church that is faithful to Jesus Christ. If we are going to be healthy, spiritual spandex must be forbidden here – all knits, no spandex. For we are called to be knit to one another in love – all of us.

Gabrielle Carey, the Australian author of Puberty Blues, tells about the power of this love as she relates the chain of incidents that led to her conversion to Christ.

Carey was raised in an atheist humanist household. Her father was a university lecturer with a passionate commitment to the left side of politics. Throughout her upbringing he railed against oppression, capitalism and was a key figure in the anti-war movement during the Vietnam years. He also railed against God and the church, finding it impossible to believe in a God when the world was full of so much suffering.

But that left Gabrielle tremendously burdened. In her book In My Father’s House she writes, “One of the hardest aspects of growing up as the daughter of a humanist was the worry of having to live up to incredibly high intellectual and moral standards. And worse, what happened when it was discovered that you hadn’t? Would you be given a second chance? Could you confess your weaknesses? Would you ever be forgiven? What would my father say if he found out that I was just another brainless, mind-molded, media-manipulated failure to humanity?”

It was this burden of guilt Gabrielle found lifted when she converted to Christian faith. “Perhaps what I liked most about Christians” she writes, “or at least the Catholics the abbot had introduced to me, was knowing I could be wrong, knowing I could behave badly, awfully in fact, and that I would still be loved. That all I needed to do was to own up and I’d be forgiven…At least with a Christian God and Father you could fail without feeling that it was the end of all hope. And that was such a relief.”

It is such a relief – to know that God loves us for who we are. And it’s also such a relief to know that God calls us to a community where we are to love and experience love in the same way. For all of us are longing to find a place where we are loved -- not for what we can contribute but for who we are.