The Real Deal
Hebrews 2:5-9
Following Jesus in this broken world can be difficult. Doing what he asks us to do – sharing his love in the dark places of this world can feel overwhelming. The problems we face – hunger, homelessness, addiction, injustice – they just seem so big. So much a part of this world that we wonder what we can do. As we follow Jesus into these dark places, seeking to bring hope to others, we often find ourselves losing hope, tempted to quit. Can we really make a difference? Do our words and actions even matter? What good does it all do? God doesn’t really need ME to do anything. Other people can do it for a while.
We find ourselves constantly colliding with a culture that’s going a different way than we are, and we feel like we’re going the wrong way down a wrong way street. Sometimes, it’s a series of small bumps into culture that add up over time and wear us out. At other times, it’s a major collision that derails us. Do my efforts matter? Do my prayers matter? Wouldn’t it be easier to just … quit. Oh, I don’t want to quit completely. I’ll still go to church, maybe even a Bible study. But I want to just sit in a pew for a while.
This morning, I’d like to introduce you to my friends, Andy and Andrea Baker. We went to college together at Asbury College, now Asbury University, in the mid-90s. Andy and I were in the same class … the Proclaimer class of 1996. At Asbury, every incoming class gets a class name and identity, and it stays with the class throughout their time there. Andy and I were both Proclaimers. And we lived on the same hall all four years.
Andy was a big, strong, athletic dude. He had a mountain bike he kept out in the hall or in his room. He was, and still is, an outdoor adventurer. He was always out mountain biking, or rock climbing, or on an extreme hike somewhere in the hills of central Kentucky. He was also quiet. Extremely quiet. Not shy or withdrawn. He’s confident. But he was quiet. I didn’t know Andrea very well, other than that she and Andy started dating at some point.
After college, they got married, and then, looking for adventure, desiring to live a life of purpose, and increasingly uncomfortable with the excess abundance associated with life in the United States, they moved to Bolivia, a country where 80% of the women will experience violence in their lifetimes, and started a ministry that is today known as Project Suma in El Alto and La Paz. Project Suma is an outreach ministry to women caught in the web of prostitution and human trafficking in Bolivia.
They are regulars in the red light districts, not to buy women but to reach them, to help them climb out of the destructive web they have found themselves in and chart a new course, make a new, better life for themselves. They don’t just tell people about Jesus – slip them a gospel tract and then continue on their way. They help them find freedom and wholeness. Andy and Andrea have been working in Bolivia for going on 24 years now. Their kids grew up there.
Andrea turns 50 this year, and she’s been posting on social media each day for the 50 days leading up to her 50th birthday, giving her readers an inside look at the work they do and the world they live in. They’re looking for 50 new regular donors before she turns 50. This is the impact their ministry has had on her … in her own words.
“Vicarious trauma. Secondary trauma. Compassion fatigue. Burnout. Trauma isn’t only present in those we serve – it seeps into our bones too. I can feel the tension in my jaw, my shoulders and neck. My gums are receding, I learned recently, because I grind my teeth at night. And surely these white streaks in my hair are not only genetic. This life is costly. It’s a constant balancing act: caring for others while trying to care for ourselves.
‘The dream that I had … has turned into a nightmare …’ Martin Luther King Jr. confessed once. ‘I still have faith in the future … but I’ve had to analyze many things … the old optimism was a little superficial. It must now be tempered with solid realism … We still have a long, long way to go.’ Yes. The long-view is exhausting, impossible. Poco a poco, ‘little by little’ is my mantra. Focus on the small steps, the tangible wins. Or else we crumble. Front-liners are often the first to witness the glorious or the first to be attacked in battle.
‘Remind me again why we’re doing this?’ I need the daily reminders. I’ve wanted to quit more times than I can count. Fundraising feels like begging, admin drains the dream. Community is messy; we hurt each other, because none of us is always okay. And the systems means to support us are often broken themselves. In those moments when we feel beaten down and unseen, Roosevelt’s words comfort: ‘It is not the critic who counts … but the one in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood …’
We’ve learned the hard way that self-care isn’t optional. It’s not luxurious pampering, but deep, consistent, necessary rhythms of healthy living: sleep, nourishment, movement, reflection, healing, connection. If you’ve felt this too – you’re not alone. The vision of abundant life isn’t only for those we serve – we lead from experience. And we’re not giving up.
How do we keep going when we want to give up? How do we keep praying when it feels like our prayers are bouncing off the ceiling? How do we keep loving and caring and, in our case here at Christ Church, feeding the hungry and the homeless when we’re at our wits end and we’re pretty sure we aren’t making a dent in the problem? What can God do through such a small church anyway? How do we keep telling people about Jesus in a culture that increasingly doesn’t care? How do we keep trusting God when God seems silent? As we continue our series through the book of Hebrews, turn with me to Hebrews 2:5-9.
God has never been silent. But there are times when it sure seems to us, from our perspective, like he is. God never turns a blind eye to our situation. But there are times when it seems like that’s exactly what God does.
We pray with the Psalmist, “Awake! Why are you sleeping, O Lord? Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever! Why do you hide your face? Why do you forget our affliction and oppression? For our soul is bowed down to the dust; our belly clings to the ground. Rise up; come to our help! Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love!” (Ps. 44:23-26).
There are times when we feel like we have to remind God that we exist, that we’re hurting, that we need his help. There are times when we feel like our prayers are bouncing off the ceiling and slapping back in our faces instead of reaching the throne room of heaven.
But we can’t always trust our feelings. And things aren’t always as they appear to us. When we’re hurting, we have to remember that in Jesus, God walked this world too, experience the pain and the fear and the sadness and the frustration we experience too. The preeminent one, the one who surpasses even the majesty and magnificence of the angels, became like us, walked here on this earth with us. Look at Vv. 6-8.
The writer quotes Psalm 8:6-8 here. And it seems like he’s forgotten exactly where this quote is in Scripture, because he says, “It has been testified somewhere …” Sounds like he’s saying, “Somewhere in the Bible, I’m not sure where, it says …” But that isn’t what he’s doing.
Throughout the sermon that is the book of Hebrews, he shows a masterful grasp of the Old Testament Scriptures. He hasn’t forgotten where it is. He’s de-emphasizing the human writer and emphasizing the truth that all Scripture, including the ones he quotes in this sermon, are the Words of God. This is the Word of God. Yes, it is the Word of God in the words of humanity, but the source is not the mind of a human being, although the personality of each individual writer comes shining through. The ultimate source of Scripture is the mind and heart of God.
And Jesus himself is the voice of God speaking to us. Two weeks ago, as we began this series, we looked at Hebrews 1:1-2. “Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, (remember, he’s talking about the Old Testament there), but in these last days he has spoken to us BY HIS SON.” Jesus is the voice of God in this world. Jesus is the heart of God, the mind of God, in this world. His actions are the actions of God.
Now, look! Look at the quote from Psalm 8. The one who surpasses the angels was made, for a time, lower than the angels. What is he talking about here? He’s talking about the incarnation – God become man, but still God.
Look at Vv. 6-7. “What is man, (that’s humanity, that’s us), that you are mindful of him, or the son of man (that’s a divine title from the Old Testament prophet Daniel, he’s talking about Jesus now), that you care for him? You made him for a little while lower than the angels …” And then down at V. 9. “But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels …”
The one who is greater than angels made himself lower than the angels to connect with us. To reach us.
When Rebecca Pippert was an agnostic, before she placed her faith in Christ, she had one question she continually wrestled with: How can finite limited human beings ever claim to know God? How do they know they are not being deceived?
Then she wrote this:
One sunny day I was stretched out on the lawn … when I noticed that some ants were busy building a mound. I began to redirect their steps with twigs and leaves. But they simply bounced off and started a new ant mound. I thought, This is like being God! I am redirecting their steps, and they don’t even realize it!
At one point, two ants crawled onto my hands and I thought, Wouldn’t it be funny if one ant turned to the others and said, “Do you believe in Becky? Do you believe Becky really exists?” I imagine the other ant answering, “Don’t be ridiculous! Becky is a myth, a fairy tale!” How comical, I thought–the hubris of that ant declaring that I don’t exist, when I could easily blow it off my hand. But what if the other ant said, “Oh, I believe that Becky exists!” How would they resolve it? How could they know that I am real? I thought. What would I have to do to reveal to them who I am?
Suddenly I realized: the only way to reveal who I am, in a way that they could understand, would be to become an ant myself. I would have to identify totally with their sphere of reality. I sat upright, and I remember thinking, What and amazing thought! The scaling-down of the size of me to perfectly represent who I am in the form of an ant!
Then it hit me: I had just solved my problem of how finite creatures could ever discover God. God would have to come from the outside and reveal who he is.[i]
But then. Look at the last part of V. 7 and then the middle of V. 9. After he willingly made himself less, the Father made him more. After he humbled himself, he was, and is, glorified. And he sits on the throne, and everything. EVERYTHING. Is subject to him. The one who became the Savior is also Lord. With a capital L.
If that’s the case. If all things are now subject to him, why so often the struggle? His rule and reign is real. It is now. But it isn’t fully perceived yet. There are still people and systems in this world fighting it. It’s a losing battle for them, yes, but they are fighting desperately. Others simply aren’t looking for the kingdom of God. His reign is real and now, and the enemy is defeated but not yet vanquished. And he waits because he wants to give those who resist him the chance to turn toward him.
In 2 Peter 3:9, St. Peter says, “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, (Peter is acknowledging that we desperately want him to return, we want his reign to be recognized), but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.”
But he will not wait forever. He will return. Justice cannot wait forever. And he will not wait forever to bring his full and complete salvation to the cosmos. To destroy Satan and bring justice where now there is none.
But there is another reason for the struggle. Why does he allow us to suffer? Why do we have to climb the mountain, instead of him just moving the mountain for us? That’s what we want to know, right? Go back to the incarnation. Go back to what the incarnation led to … the cross. God meets us on the mountain. God meets us in the pain. God meets us in the frustration. And he loves us there. He strengthens us there. He shapes us there.
As we see Jesus with his disciples, we remember that he experienced frustration too. As we walk with him in the Garden of Gethsemane, we are reminded that he struggled too. As we walk with him to the cross, we remember that he suffered too. He suffered FOR us, but he also struggled and suffered WITH us. And with him, we can pray the prayer of surrender, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet now what I will, but what you will” (Mark 14:36). God, I’d rather be doing anything else. But if you want me to keep going, I’ll keep going.
I’d like to leave you with another one of Andrea’s posts. This one from just a few days ago. The first part of it was written by one of the women they work with.
“I’m Diedra, the oldest of five, born in Beni, Trinidad. We had very little growing up. My mother didn’t believe girls should go to school – only boys.
She saw me as her way out of poverty. So when I was 13, my stepfather began to abuse me – with my mother’s permission. I felt abandoned, unprotected and left at his mercy. He didn’t keep any of the promises he made to her. I lived under his control for three years.
Eventually, I escaped to one of my mother’s friends. She helped me to work, study and keep going – although I carried deep wounds and a constant sense of worthlessness.
Years passed, and I met the father of my children. But when we had to flee from him, my daughters were sick, and we had no food. A neighbor took me to a place where I could earn money. That’s how I ended up in prostitution.
I worked outside the red-light district, near a military compound.
One night at the house, a gringuito came with some young women and offered some hot chocolate. I begged him, “Please give me any job – I’ll do anything to get out.” That man was Andy Baker.
Along with the hot chocolate, they told us about a place offering help – lunch, psychologists, doctors, social workers – all for free. We felt like nobody, but they kept coming back. I decided to go – and the place was real.
From the moment I walked into Casa Esperanza, I felt safe and welcomed. That’s when my thoughts and heart began to change. Now I’m a different person – secure in who I am, able to talk to God in prayer and living peacefully. I have dignified work. My mind and heart are full of faith and hope. Each day I wake grateful for the change God has made.”
Andrea then says this: “Diedra is the voice I turn to in overwhelm: ‘You can’t give up, Andrea. Siempre vale la pena. It’s always worth it.’ Gentle assurance from someone who remembers exactly where she came from – and where no woman should ever return.”
Jesus says that whatever we do to “the least of these,” we do to him. If we treat those who this world views as the least poorly, we are treating Jesus poorly. If we love them, we are loving Jesus. And if we’ll listen, we’ll hear Jesus speaking to us through them. When Andrea turns to Diedra, it isn’t just Diedra’s voice she hears. It is the voice of Jesus saying – to her, and to you and me – “You can’t give up, Andrea. It’s always worth it.” Let’s pray.
[i] Rebecca Pippert, Stay Salt: The World has Changed Our Message Must Not, (The Good Book Company, 2020), pp. 39-40
