I have been thinking a lot lately about a pastor friend of ours. He died early this year, after a battle with brain cancer.
He worked with my husband as the Executive Pastor of a large church in suburban Twin Cities. He was the pastor who worked most, and appreciated most, the contemporary worship service. Mostly I knew John because I often came to worship on Monday evenings. It was a small, informal service, a great contrast from all of the other services at this church.
Once I suggested that he take prayer concerns on Monday evenings. As long as he had a small service with a very different DNA from all of the others, why not make use of that distinctiveness? Of course, he took my suggestion, and tried it a few times.
After leaving my husband's church, John went on to become the Lead Pastor at one of the largest congregations in the Twin Cities. After that, he became the Senior Pastor at (I believe) the largest Lutheran church in the United States.
John didn't fit my stereotype of what a Senior Pastors of a large congregation looked like. First of all, he was humble. Second, he admitted to being dyslexic. Also, he wore his piety on his sleeve. I don't know why it is that I thought a senior pastor of a large congregation wouldn't have these qualities, but there you go. He was also interested in leadership: both pastoral and lay. He was a leader who invested in empowering other leaders.
A year after he began his last pastorate, he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. It was just about the time I was getting ready to leave Minnesota and journey down to Texas. I got on his Caring Bridge site and read about his progress.
I've kept track of people on Caring Bridge before, but John's updates were unlike any others. Updates on his progress were slight. What he shared, day after day, was encouragement. From his hospital bed, from where-ever he was, when he couldn't speak or preach, he shared his faith and encouragement with everyone who read his words. He shared the importance of joy. He shared his conviction that all of our lives make a difference. He shares his love of God, and God's grace.
John did some impressive things in his years in ministry. Because of his passion for the least and the lost, he was instrumental in developing both local and global outreach ministries. He wanted to make the world more like the Kingdom Jesus envisioned. But in the last years of his life, when he couldn't do the impressive things any longer, I saw so clearly the spiritual foundation of his ministry, his call.
It was Grace. He had this profound experience of God's grace, the love of God given freely to him. It broke his heart to know how many people did not believe that God loved them, did not believe they were worthy of God's love. He wanted everyone to experience that.
And he wanted to build bridges, not walls. Underneath all of the ministries and foundations, what he wanted was to reflect the love of God in Christ, and that this love was for ALL people. So he loved people who disagreed with him, and disagreed with him passionately, and he showed that. And he said, you might consider him naive and a Pollyanna, but he had been called the worst of names because he dared to reflect Christ's love, and build bridges.
It is not often that we get to see someone's calling, distilled to its most basic form, and then reflected so clearly. But that is what I give thanks for in the life of my friend John. I give thanks for his clear reflection of the grace of God, which is love.
I give thanks for John. And for the love of Christ, which filled him, and fills him still.
A colleague at his last church said of him, "He taught us how to live, and he taught us how to die."
Whatever else you say, this is what it means to be a leader.
And today, and at such a time as this, when divisions and hatred are so high, somehow, his calling, and his life, give me hope.
Showing posts with label calling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label calling. Show all posts
Friday, January 20, 2017
Saturday, September 17, 2016
The Voice of God
On Thursday morning, I got an email from a member of my congregation, telling me that she was transferring her membership to another congregation. She had prayed long and hard, she said, but she wanted to go "where her gifts were appreciated."
It was not the best beginning to the morning. I emailed her back saying that I understood, and that I did appreciate her gifts. Still, the content of the email followed me around for awhile, whispering doubts in my ears.
Later on, I called the daughter-in-law of a woman who was in hospice. The hospice care facility had called the day before, saying that the family requested a pastoral visit. They said I should get in touch with the woman's daughter-in-law first, which I did. So I called and got directions to their house.
I've been here about a year now, but I still don't know all parts of the community where I live. This was in an area of town where I had not been before, so I used both verbal directions and my car's GPS and found the cottage where this elderly woman and her husband lived.
I went in, and introduced myself to the man and his wife, explaining that his daughter-in-law had called me. I found out that the wife was from Germany. "I found her and I brought her back to Texas," he told me. He had been Baptist, but she made a Lutheran out of him. After that, he said he had held every leadership position in the church, except for pastor. He always wanted to be a pastor. I sat by the bed of his wife, and we talked a little bit about their lives. They had lived in Texas for a long time, but were new to this community. Their daughter-in-law came over, and joined the conversation. I could tell that this was a family who looked out for one another. I asked if the husband and daughter-in-law also wanted communion. They both said yes.
We talked a little bit about the church where I serve. The daughter-in-law was familiar with it, in fact had attended for awhile. They were members when it was a larger and livelier place, about the time when her children were small and the day care was just opening. I said it was smaller now, and that it was my job to build it up again.
She said, "Well, you have the right personality for that."
I don't know why she said that. We had known each other for about 20 minutes. I immediately felt a small voice, a tiny piece of hope, for no reason. I felt for a moment that perhaps I could do the work to which I had been called, in this place far from my home.
We began the communion service. The daughter-in-law knew the words of the confession by heart. I read from John 10, about the gate, and the shepherd, and the one who knows our names, and whose voice we know, and who leads us out, and in, to find pasture.
We prayed together. We shared the bread and the wine. We shared words of blessing.
The husband told me again that he had held every job in the church, except the pastor. I told him that all of those others jobs were important ones. They were callings from God.
I told them if they needed anything, they could call.
And the words of the conversation followed me around for a while, whispering in my ear, reminding me about the shepherd whose voice I follow, even though I do not know exactly where He will take me, and who has brought me here.
It was not the best beginning to the morning. I emailed her back saying that I understood, and that I did appreciate her gifts. Still, the content of the email followed me around for awhile, whispering doubts in my ears.
Later on, I called the daughter-in-law of a woman who was in hospice. The hospice care facility had called the day before, saying that the family requested a pastoral visit. They said I should get in touch with the woman's daughter-in-law first, which I did. So I called and got directions to their house.
I've been here about a year now, but I still don't know all parts of the community where I live. This was in an area of town where I had not been before, so I used both verbal directions and my car's GPS and found the cottage where this elderly woman and her husband lived.
I went in, and introduced myself to the man and his wife, explaining that his daughter-in-law had called me. I found out that the wife was from Germany. "I found her and I brought her back to Texas," he told me. He had been Baptist, but she made a Lutheran out of him. After that, he said he had held every leadership position in the church, except for pastor. He always wanted to be a pastor. I sat by the bed of his wife, and we talked a little bit about their lives. They had lived in Texas for a long time, but were new to this community. Their daughter-in-law came over, and joined the conversation. I could tell that this was a family who looked out for one another. I asked if the husband and daughter-in-law also wanted communion. They both said yes.
We talked a little bit about the church where I serve. The daughter-in-law was familiar with it, in fact had attended for awhile. They were members when it was a larger and livelier place, about the time when her children were small and the day care was just opening. I said it was smaller now, and that it was my job to build it up again.
She said, "Well, you have the right personality for that."
I don't know why she said that. We had known each other for about 20 minutes. I immediately felt a small voice, a tiny piece of hope, for no reason. I felt for a moment that perhaps I could do the work to which I had been called, in this place far from my home.
We began the communion service. The daughter-in-law knew the words of the confession by heart. I read from John 10, about the gate, and the shepherd, and the one who knows our names, and whose voice we know, and who leads us out, and in, to find pasture.
We prayed together. We shared the bread and the wine. We shared words of blessing.
The husband told me again that he had held every job in the church, except the pastor. I told him that all of those others jobs were important ones. They were callings from God.
I told them if they needed anything, they could call.
And the words of the conversation followed me around for a while, whispering in my ear, reminding me about the shepherd whose voice I follow, even though I do not know exactly where He will take me, and who has brought me here.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
The Destination, Not the Journey
So, I have been called to a new congregation, in a new city, in a new state, some distance away from the city and state where I live and serve right now. I have a few weeks left in my current position, a handful of weeks of vacation (so to speak), and then I begin.
I begin to meet people and drive on roads I have never driven on before. I begin to write new sermons and ask new questions and meet a community and probably get lost.
In the meantime, I am here. I am calling moving companies and figuring out what will go first with me and what will go later. I am getting pictures and imagining apartments and trying to make decisions. I am making lists (fix car, get new glasses, close checking account).
And the lovely sentiment, "it's the journey, not the destination" occurs to me, except that on this occasion I do not consider it lovely. I am not loving the journey.
I want to be there. I want to be there, with the furniture all moved in and the washer and dryer hooked up and all of my books on the shelves and the vase from Japan in the entry. I want to be there, meeting the children and reading them stories, going to the hospital, drinking sweet tea with a new friend, asking questions, finding a new road.
I want to be there. And, I want to be here. I want to be here, doing crossword puzzles and going to restaurants with my husband, seeing my friends one more time, having coffee with my mother, going up to the Falls with my dog, getting left-handed knitting help at the shop that I love best. I want to be here, making sure I notice the beauty that I have taken for granted, because I was always on the way somewhere.
Is this "journey, not the destination" thing in the Bible? Oh, I know, there are a lot of journeys in the Bible, including those forty years in the wilderness, where the Israelites ate manna and quail and prepared to enter the promised land. But the promised land WAS the point, wasn't it? It was the destination, not the journey.
Or, maybe the wilderness was a destination too.
So, I breathe deeply (my new spiritual discipline) and try to be there, in the mess, in the lists and the packing and the coffee with friends, in the crossword puzzles and conversations: here, there, and in between.
I begin to meet people and drive on roads I have never driven on before. I begin to write new sermons and ask new questions and meet a community and probably get lost.
In the meantime, I am here. I am calling moving companies and figuring out what will go first with me and what will go later. I am getting pictures and imagining apartments and trying to make decisions. I am making lists (fix car, get new glasses, close checking account).
And the lovely sentiment, "it's the journey, not the destination" occurs to me, except that on this occasion I do not consider it lovely. I am not loving the journey.
I want to be there. I want to be there, with the furniture all moved in and the washer and dryer hooked up and all of my books on the shelves and the vase from Japan in the entry. I want to be there, meeting the children and reading them stories, going to the hospital, drinking sweet tea with a new friend, asking questions, finding a new road.
I want to be there. And, I want to be here. I want to be here, doing crossword puzzles and going to restaurants with my husband, seeing my friends one more time, having coffee with my mother, going up to the Falls with my dog, getting left-handed knitting help at the shop that I love best. I want to be here, making sure I notice the beauty that I have taken for granted, because I was always on the way somewhere.
Is this "journey, not the destination" thing in the Bible? Oh, I know, there are a lot of journeys in the Bible, including those forty years in the wilderness, where the Israelites ate manna and quail and prepared to enter the promised land. But the promised land WAS the point, wasn't it? It was the destination, not the journey.
Or, maybe the wilderness was a destination too.
So, I breathe deeply (my new spiritual discipline) and try to be there, in the mess, in the lists and the packing and the coffee with friends, in the crossword puzzles and conversations: here, there, and in between.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
In 1991 I Wrote This About My Call
I was looking for some old Lenten monologues I wrote based on Mark's gospel, and I came upon the "Endorsement Essay" that I wrote for the seminary and for my denomination. Here's what I wrote:
SINCE childhood, I have been nurtured by many stories from the Bible. There have been picture Bibles at bedtime before prayers, stories told by Sunday School teachers, lectionary readings preached from the pulpit. A few of these stories have stayed with me and become mine, to comfort as well as afflict me. He is a story about some of the stories that have become companions with me on my journey.
Story #1
It was a dark and stormy night, and the little boat was rocked by waves. The disciples had all they could do to keep afloat, for the wind was against them. When they saw Jesus walking across the lake to them, it was somehow not so reassuring, but just another eerie thing in the middle of the night, the kind they would have nightmares about sometimes after witnessing Jesus cast out some particularly terrifying demons. "Don't be afraid!" he called, and it was about as easy to stop being afraid as it would have been to stop breathing. Impulsive Peter, however, put all sense behind him. The man knew no fear. He leaped from the boat and found himself, to his surprise, walking on water. It didn't last, however; it couldn't last. Peter feared he fell; he failed.
It was August 30, 1981. My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry, I felt somewhat numb. I was in church, being commissioned as a missionary to Japan, and I listened intently as the minister told this story. I identified with Peter. I was leaving for Japan the next day, and I was not packed yet. I felt ignorant, foolish, unprepared.
"But I never feel prepared!"
It was at a winter retreat
that a student said it,
I was pleased when a counselor replied,
"But we walk on water all the time."
It is well to be prepared,
but we dare not forget that we are never fully prepared
for the tasks that are most worth doing.
The tasks that are worthy of us, as persons,
are often beyond us.
--Gerhard Frost, "Bless My Growing"
As I prepared for ministry of service in Japan, I feared that I had gotten in "over my head" as Peter did, and was about to drown. But I also began to suspect that "over my head" was just where God wanted me. I began to suspect that a life in response to God's grace was a life of risk, a life of continual dependence on the Voice that calls out over the waves, and the strong Arm that reaches us when we are drowning. We are continually drowning and being raised to new life, and since that first drowning, we need not fear the others.
It was May 19, 1957. I was only one month old, and this time, I did not jump in. I was pushed! When my parents brought me to Augustana church that day in obedience to God's Word, I'm sure they did not suspect what adventures would follow. But as the minister poured water three times over my head in the strong name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I was assured a lifetime of getting in "over my head." It is a lifetime of grace for all of our a ventures, of daring to risk because of the God who dares to go with us.
Story #2
Job was a Good Man, God had said so Himself, so it came as somewhat of a shock when he found his fortunes turning from good to bad and from bad to worse. He lost everything; first his fortune, then his family, even his wife, last his health. No one understood it, least of all Job, although some of his friends who thought they had it all worked out came over to try to enlighten him. "Comforters," they were called, and some of their responses sounded reasonable, though none of them were very comforting, and Job did not find them compelling. In the end, Job demanded an explanation from God himself, and though he didn't get one, he did get God, the creator of the Universe, right there, at this bedside.
I first read the story of Job, all 42 chapters of the Revised Standard Version, the first day of my senior year of high school. It was an assignment. I didn't understand it much then. But by the end of my senior year, I had begun to take a liking to this gutsy questioner. By the end of this year, I too was beginning to question God. Confronted by issues of human suffering, the Holocaust, the Atomic bomb, I found it difficult to believe in an all-powerful but all-loving God. Trips to the library to learn more about Jesus did not bring answers but still more questions. In the church, which I continued to attend despite my doubts, I found no answers either. But I found something. I found God who promised to be with us "where two or three are gathered." I found that the Christian response to suffering was not an answer, but a presence. As Job discovered, answers did not sustain me. But God has sustained me and continues to sustain. Within the bread and the wine, within the gathered community which sings, prayers, confesses together, God is present. Sometimes the community believes for me when I cannot believe. Sometimes another is weak when I am strong. I know we don't always get answers, but I know that the Creator of the Universe has come right here, among us.
Story #3
Jonah went to Nineveh to preach repentance, but it certainly wasn't his idea. In fact, the indentations in the sand were pretty long and deep where God dragged him kicking and screaming. In case you had forgotten, the first thing Jonah did when God called him was get on a boat going in the opposite direction. After that, he ended up spending three days in the belly of a great fish, reconsidering his original plan. That's what you get for trying to run away from God.
I like Jonah. I think I am a lot like him. He was stubborn and resistant, pretty convinced that he could not preach the Word, especially to Nineveh. Jonah knew his weaknesses and used them as excuses to run away from God's call. I find I have been the same way. "I can't serve you, God," I have argued. "I am not a leader. I am not assertive enough." (Indeed, I will have to learn to be more assertive as I grow in ministry.) But my argument, unfortunately, did not impress God. "You're crazy, God", I countered, "I am too much of a people-pleaser to preach your Word prophetically." (And it's true, I do need to learn to be less concerned about how other people see me.) But God was as stubborn as I was, and this argument did not work either. "O God," I persisted piously. I am not disciplined enough in my own life of prayer and Bible study to lead a congregation's spiritual life." and God granted that it was a true confession, but did not give up calling me. I began to hear another voice beneath all of my excuses, and this one was a still small voice, reminding me that along with all my weaknesses, I also had gifts to bring to ministry.
One of these gifts ironically, grows out of my own stubborn delay in recognizing Gods call. Because of that, I have had many experiences as a lay person, struggling to integrate faith and life. I have often sat in the pew on Sunday morning and thought, "That's nice for you, Pastor, but how do I live out my Christian faith in my life and at my job? What do I do on Monday?" I want to hang onto that experience as I plan worship and preaching. I have also sat on church councils and know the good, the bad and the ugly about church politics. I believe that lay people can teach me as well as learn from me.
Another of these gifts is a love for stories and for writing. Clarity of expression is important to me. I know that words and stories have power. I also know that people are stories to be read and enjoyed. I want to learn to read people and learn from them and be sensitive to their struggles. I know that the Word is not just words on a page, but the word of speech, of touch, of sight and of sound.
Another gift I bring is my nurture in the Lutheran tradition, with respect for the power of baptism and the Triune God who commands it and acts through it. Yet I have grown through a variety of religious experiences, Lutheran and not: summer campfires, charismatic worship, reading in mysticism, cross-cultural experiences, and insights through art, music and literature. I have learned that God speaks to us in a variety of languages to different people. All these resources I might bring to worship, preaching, teaching, and counseling, now that I have gotten out of the belly of that great fish.
Story #4
In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the Beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In the Beginning was the Word. And the Almighty Word leapt down from heaven, took on human flesh, eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us. In the End the Word was crucified by us and for us, but that was only the Beginning. In the Middle the Word healed and forgave, spoke in riddles and walked on seas, multiplied loaves of bread and divided the house of Satan, and wear generally misunderstood and underestimated. In the Middle, almost nobody understood until the End. But that was only the Beginning. In the Middle was the Word, and the Word is in the Middle. In the Middle, we continue to misunderstand, get it wrong, trip over our shoelaces and miss the point. And in the Middle we continue to hear the Word, "Given and shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins, who is, in the middle of our middle, still eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us, although we often don't understand until the End.
And that is only the beginning.
SINCE childhood, I have been nurtured by many stories from the Bible. There have been picture Bibles at bedtime before prayers, stories told by Sunday School teachers, lectionary readings preached from the pulpit. A few of these stories have stayed with me and become mine, to comfort as well as afflict me. He is a story about some of the stories that have become companions with me on my journey.
Story #1
It was a dark and stormy night, and the little boat was rocked by waves. The disciples had all they could do to keep afloat, for the wind was against them. When they saw Jesus walking across the lake to them, it was somehow not so reassuring, but just another eerie thing in the middle of the night, the kind they would have nightmares about sometimes after witnessing Jesus cast out some particularly terrifying demons. "Don't be afraid!" he called, and it was about as easy to stop being afraid as it would have been to stop breathing. Impulsive Peter, however, put all sense behind him. The man knew no fear. He leaped from the boat and found himself, to his surprise, walking on water. It didn't last, however; it couldn't last. Peter feared he fell; he failed.
It was August 30, 1981. My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry, I felt somewhat numb. I was in church, being commissioned as a missionary to Japan, and I listened intently as the minister told this story. I identified with Peter. I was leaving for Japan the next day, and I was not packed yet. I felt ignorant, foolish, unprepared.
"But I never feel prepared!"
It was at a winter retreat
that a student said it,
I was pleased when a counselor replied,
"But we walk on water all the time."
It is well to be prepared,
but we dare not forget that we are never fully prepared
for the tasks that are most worth doing.
The tasks that are worthy of us, as persons,
are often beyond us.
--Gerhard Frost, "Bless My Growing"
As I prepared for ministry of service in Japan, I feared that I had gotten in "over my head" as Peter did, and was about to drown. But I also began to suspect that "over my head" was just where God wanted me. I began to suspect that a life in response to God's grace was a life of risk, a life of continual dependence on the Voice that calls out over the waves, and the strong Arm that reaches us when we are drowning. We are continually drowning and being raised to new life, and since that first drowning, we need not fear the others.
It was May 19, 1957. I was only one month old, and this time, I did not jump in. I was pushed! When my parents brought me to Augustana church that day in obedience to God's Word, I'm sure they did not suspect what adventures would follow. But as the minister poured water three times over my head in the strong name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I was assured a lifetime of getting in "over my head." It is a lifetime of grace for all of our a ventures, of daring to risk because of the God who dares to go with us.
Story #2
Job was a Good Man, God had said so Himself, so it came as somewhat of a shock when he found his fortunes turning from good to bad and from bad to worse. He lost everything; first his fortune, then his family, even his wife, last his health. No one understood it, least of all Job, although some of his friends who thought they had it all worked out came over to try to enlighten him. "Comforters," they were called, and some of their responses sounded reasonable, though none of them were very comforting, and Job did not find them compelling. In the end, Job demanded an explanation from God himself, and though he didn't get one, he did get God, the creator of the Universe, right there, at this bedside.
I first read the story of Job, all 42 chapters of the Revised Standard Version, the first day of my senior year of high school. It was an assignment. I didn't understand it much then. But by the end of my senior year, I had begun to take a liking to this gutsy questioner. By the end of this year, I too was beginning to question God. Confronted by issues of human suffering, the Holocaust, the Atomic bomb, I found it difficult to believe in an all-powerful but all-loving God. Trips to the library to learn more about Jesus did not bring answers but still more questions. In the church, which I continued to attend despite my doubts, I found no answers either. But I found something. I found God who promised to be with us "where two or three are gathered." I found that the Christian response to suffering was not an answer, but a presence. As Job discovered, answers did not sustain me. But God has sustained me and continues to sustain. Within the bread and the wine, within the gathered community which sings, prayers, confesses together, God is present. Sometimes the community believes for me when I cannot believe. Sometimes another is weak when I am strong. I know we don't always get answers, but I know that the Creator of the Universe has come right here, among us.
Story #3
Jonah went to Nineveh to preach repentance, but it certainly wasn't his idea. In fact, the indentations in the sand were pretty long and deep where God dragged him kicking and screaming. In case you had forgotten, the first thing Jonah did when God called him was get on a boat going in the opposite direction. After that, he ended up spending three days in the belly of a great fish, reconsidering his original plan. That's what you get for trying to run away from God.
I like Jonah. I think I am a lot like him. He was stubborn and resistant, pretty convinced that he could not preach the Word, especially to Nineveh. Jonah knew his weaknesses and used them as excuses to run away from God's call. I find I have been the same way. "I can't serve you, God," I have argued. "I am not a leader. I am not assertive enough." (Indeed, I will have to learn to be more assertive as I grow in ministry.) But my argument, unfortunately, did not impress God. "You're crazy, God", I countered, "I am too much of a people-pleaser to preach your Word prophetically." (And it's true, I do need to learn to be less concerned about how other people see me.) But God was as stubborn as I was, and this argument did not work either. "O God," I persisted piously. I am not disciplined enough in my own life of prayer and Bible study to lead a congregation's spiritual life." and God granted that it was a true confession, but did not give up calling me. I began to hear another voice beneath all of my excuses, and this one was a still small voice, reminding me that along with all my weaknesses, I also had gifts to bring to ministry.
One of these gifts ironically, grows out of my own stubborn delay in recognizing Gods call. Because of that, I have had many experiences as a lay person, struggling to integrate faith and life. I have often sat in the pew on Sunday morning and thought, "That's nice for you, Pastor, but how do I live out my Christian faith in my life and at my job? What do I do on Monday?" I want to hang onto that experience as I plan worship and preaching. I have also sat on church councils and know the good, the bad and the ugly about church politics. I believe that lay people can teach me as well as learn from me.
Another of these gifts is a love for stories and for writing. Clarity of expression is important to me. I know that words and stories have power. I also know that people are stories to be read and enjoyed. I want to learn to read people and learn from them and be sensitive to their struggles. I know that the Word is not just words on a page, but the word of speech, of touch, of sight and of sound.
Another gift I bring is my nurture in the Lutheran tradition, with respect for the power of baptism and the Triune God who commands it and acts through it. Yet I have grown through a variety of religious experiences, Lutheran and not: summer campfires, charismatic worship, reading in mysticism, cross-cultural experiences, and insights through art, music and literature. I have learned that God speaks to us in a variety of languages to different people. All these resources I might bring to worship, preaching, teaching, and counseling, now that I have gotten out of the belly of that great fish.
Story #4
In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the Beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In the Beginning was the Word. And the Almighty Word leapt down from heaven, took on human flesh, eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us. In the End the Word was crucified by us and for us, but that was only the Beginning. In the Middle the Word healed and forgave, spoke in riddles and walked on seas, multiplied loaves of bread and divided the house of Satan, and wear generally misunderstood and underestimated. In the Middle, almost nobody understood until the End. But that was only the Beginning. In the Middle was the Word, and the Word is in the Middle. In the Middle, we continue to misunderstand, get it wrong, trip over our shoelaces and miss the point. And in the Middle we continue to hear the Word, "Given and shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins, who is, in the middle of our middle, still eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us, although we often don't understand until the End.
And that is only the beginning.
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