The Gift

  I got a call on Monday night from the church administrator at a neighboring congregation.  I knew that their pastor was traveling for ministry so I had an idea why she might be calling me.  

She told me that someone connected with their congregation had had a stroke, and was entering hospice, and they wanted a pastor to come out the next day.  I said I could come.  

It's not so common any more for me to do a ministry visit with someone I don't know.  I've been at my congregation for a few years, so my ministry calls are usually for people that I have known for a long time.  They are people with whom I share some history.  My colleague and I often say we will cover for each other while we are gone, but frankly, it hasn't been that often that we have had to make good on our offer.  I spoke with a daughter in law, and prepared to go to the hospital and meet the man.  

Also, I had a brand-new communion set, that I had not used yet.  I packed it up in the morning, and was looking forward to using it for the first time.  It is cedar, and it smells so good when I open it.  The smell reminds me of the verse in the Old Testament, "let my prayers rise before You as incense."  The cedar smells like prayer to me.  And this one has a place for anointing oil  I have never had anointing oil in my communion set before.  

I will be retiring in just a couple of months.  So perhaps it seems like an odd time to buy a new communion set.  But I got an unexpected gift, and decided that this was the way I would use it.  I'm not sure what this says about me.  I will still have a couple of months to visit people and give communion, to sit with people and pray and read scripture and talk about our lives.  It is all communion.

And then there was Tuesday.  I got to the hospital at about noon.  I introduced myself to the man.  His son had not arrived at the hospital yet.  I introduced myself to him, and we tried to have a conversation, but his stroke made it difficult for either of us to understand the other.  I tried to tell him what church I was from.  I asked him about himself.  Once in awhile I understood something.  He did keep saying, "Open the door."  The door was open, but I opened it wider.

I did sing a couple of songs:  "Amazing Grace, "What a Friend in Jesus," "Jesus Loves Me."  It is one of the things I do when I don't know what to do.  

Then his son arrived.  I introduced myself, and asked what would be most helpful.  His dad was on a feeding tube but he could be anointed.  I could read scripture and pray.  His son said, "He is afraid.  Help him to know he doesn't have to be afraid."  I asked, "Is he afraid of leaving you, or is he afraid for himself?"  "For himself," he said.  "He knows we will be okay."

I remembered how my dad worried before he died.  He worried about his salvation.  Even though he had believed his whole life, now he was worried he was not good enough.  And how I asked my dad, "Do you trust Jesus?" and he said, "Yes."  And I told him, "Then you are okay."  And my dad said, "You mean it's that simple?"

So I said to the man who had had the stroke, "Do you believe that Jesus loves you?"  He nodded.  I said, "Don't be afraid."  And I stretched out my arms and said, "He is ready to welcome you, just like this."  And I read from Isaiah 43, and John 11, and prayed.  And then I opened up my brand new commuion set, and took out the vial of oil.  It smelled a little like balsam.  

And when I anointed him, the oil got all over my hands, like the oil running down Aaron's beard, and it was messy and smelly and wonderful.

All the way home I thought of how the man said, "Open the door", and I wondered what he meant.  The door was open.  And of course I don't know, but suddenly I thought of how Jesus said, "I am the door."  

May Jesus the door be open to him.

May Jesus the door be open to us, all the days of our lives.

It is this I am called to do -- to make the sign of the cross with oil, and remind people who are dying that they are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by the cross of Christ forever.  

For two more months and forever -- I am called to remind people they are marked by the cross of Christ.  I am called to remind them of the door that is open, the grace that is wide, the oil running down the beard of Aaron.  The gift.

What makes a church good?

 Early one steamy morning my husband and I were walking our dog around the common areas of our community.  It was early enough that the lawn workers were out, mowing and weeding and beautifying, and as we walked along the circle, one of them paused mowing to let us pass.  I thanked him, and asked him how he was.

“I want to quit!”  He said.  

“How long have you been doing this?” I replied.

“Three days.  But I know I don’t want to do this the rest of my life.  I think I might want to go to college.”

I asked him which college, and he quickly named a well-regarded college nearby.  I offered that one of the young people from my church would be attending that college this fall.

He asked if I attended the church down the street, and I said, No, and I named my church (Grace) and where it was located.

Then he asked, “Is it a good church?”

Before I could say anything, my husband responded, “SHE’S the pastor!”

The young man looked surprised.  “YOU’RE the pastor?”

Sometimes it is difficult to imagine that after all these years (women have been ordained for over 50 years in my denomination) people are still shocked that I exist.  And yet, it’s not his final comment that reverberates; it’s his question:  “Is it a good church?”

It made me wonder what a “good church” would look like to him.  Maybe that’s why I hesitated to say “yes."  I think that my church is good (after all, I’m the pastor), but in what way is it good?  Would he think so?  And even though I think we are “good” (whatever that means), I don’t think we are a perfect church.   There are times that I am amazed by our love and generosity — I still remember the Spirit I felt when our congregation blessed our two high school seniors and gave them quilts that our quilters group made.  On that day, I thought, “This is a great church!”

One of our newer members lives alone; when he had medical appointments, some of our other members gave him rides to and from the doctor’s office.  And when the son of a friend of the congregation needed to get married over a weekend leave, members of the congregation made sure he and his fiancé were welcomed, and made the celebration happen.

When an older member of the congregation died suddenly, almost 30 members of the church attended her funeral, even though it was at another venue about forty miles away.

But, if I am honest, there are other moments too:  times when someone (even me) said the wrong thing at the wrong time.  There have been moments when the livestream failed, or the sermon fell short.  The music isn’t always perfect.

But, what makes a church good?  That’s what I am thinking about.  I don’t know what this young man thinks.  I don’t know if a good church for him is large, and has a band, or small, and has prayer groups.  I don’t know if a good church for him is sure about everything, or leaves room for doubt.  

For me, this is what makes a church good: a church that listens to the children and the shut ins.  A church that hears the voice of God, in scripture, but also in outcasts.  A church that practices forgiveness.  A church that knows Jesus, and wants to know him better.  A church that cares for one another, and for others.  This church doesn’t need to be large, but there is always room for more.

What makes a church good?

A Sermon Illustration from my Life

I remember once going to visit my uncle in the hospital in Sioux Falls, after he had heart bypass surgery.  It was early in January, and since I was a pastor in a small town in northeastern South Dakota, and since it was in that little lull you get right after Christmas and New Years, I decided go go and keep watch with other members of the family.

My uncle had never married.  But my aunt Margret came, and I think my mother's other brother as well.  They lived nearby, so they came and waited as well.

I knew that my aunt and uncle were proud of my vocation.  They had come and visited me one summer, and stayed in the parsonage.  They came to Sunday worship too.  I still remember that my sermon was on the text from 2nd Samuel about David and Bathsheba and the death of their son, and my uncle was impressed that (whatever I said) I did not sneak around the text.

So I was sitting with my aunt, and I was telling her about how Christmas services had gone.  I told my aunt about my Christmas Day sermon, that I had told a story about going to the farm one Christmas when I was a very little girl.  It was the farm where my aunt and my mom and her sisters grew up.  My mom was the middle one.  Margret was her older sister.  Her younger sister was still living on the farm when I was small.  So I told my aunt about the time when when visited the farm and I was afraid that Santa Claus would not find us.  My mom's younger sister slept in the bed with me, and she reassured me that everything would be all right, that Santa would find me.

It was a sermon illustration from my life.

My aunt thought it was a good story.

Then she asked me a question.  "Have you ever told a story about me in one of your sermons?"

I thought about it.  I thought that I should.  But I couldn't think of anything.

My aunt has always been such a faithful presence in my life.  I remember her colorful china dishes, which she used every day.  She wasn't a gourmet cook, but she was a good no-nonsense cook.  She used to work for General Mills, so she knew her way around the Betty Crocker cookbook.

She always wanted to be a teacher.  She was good at talking to children.  When I was in high school, she took me to the University of Minnesota with her one day, just to walk around the campus and sit in on the classes with her.  

I remember she got involved in visiting shut-ins at her church.  It made her feel good to talk to people who were hurting or lonely, and to befriend them.  She had a pastor's heart.

But when she asked me if I had ever used a story about her as a sermon illustration, I couldn't think of anything.  She was just there, always, a constant presence.  I couldn't think of a single particular thing.  Just that she was always there.

I didn't answer her question then, and I don't think I ever did.

But actually she did become a sermon illustration once.

When I was in college, I got involved in a pretty intense religious group.  They were the kind of people that thought they were right, and that everyone else was wrong.  I was "on fire for the Lord," and sadly, that meant that I was pretty judgmental for awhile.  I questioned everyone else's faith, including my Aunt's.  In fact, I even wrote my aunt and uncle a letter, and although I don't remember exactly what I wrote, I think I wrote some pretty terrible things.

My aunt wrote me back.  And this I remember:

She forgave me.

She loved me anyway.

That was a sermon illustration.

And Aunt Margret, I want you to know this -- your whole life was a sermon illustration for me.

Sunday Sermon: Living Generously, Part 1: Greater than our Grief

based on Mark 10:17-31

            I recently heard a riddle that I could not figure out the answer to.  It had me stumped!  Here it is: “What’s better than God, worse than the devil?  Rich men want it, poor men have it, and if you eat it, you'll die?"

       What’s the answer?

            Nothing.  

            You wouldn’t think it would be so hard!  Right? Nothing is better than God, nothing is worse than the devil, rich people want nothing – and poor people have it. If you eat nothing you’ll die.” There you go.   

            Except that, according to the gospel reading today, it’s not exactly true.  

            The rich young man – as it turns out – he did want something.  “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”  

             it’s an odd question, if you think about it.  I mean, what do you DO to inherit anything?  

            Nevertheless, there is something that the rich man feels that he lacks – and Jesus begins by reminding him of the commandments. 

            He has kept the commandments, since his youth, he says.  And Jesus must sense that this is not bragging but a sincere answer – so he looks at the young man with love and says, 

            “Well all right. There’s one more thing.  Sell, all of your belongings, and give the money to the poor. Then come, follow me.”  

            You wouldn’t think it would be so hard!  

            In fact, it should be easy, shouldn’t it?  

            That’s what I told my dad once.  He was sitting in his wheelchair at the nursing home, and was suddenly worried about salvation.  Eternal life. What if he wasn’t good enough? He thought.

            Dad, do you trust Jesus? I asked.

            Yes, he answered.

            Well…. “You mean it’s that simple?”

            That’s what I told my dad.  

            But Jesus told the rich man, “Go, sell all of your belongings, and give the proceeds to the poor)

            And then, follow me. And the young man went away grieving, because he had many possessions.  

            And you know what? I think I know how he felt.

            And it makes me think back – to when I went to be a missionary in Japan.  

            And no one said that I had to sell everything I had and give the proceeds to the poor, but, truthfully, I could fit everything into two suitcases and one trunk that I sent ahead.  

            It was easier to go, because I didn’t have so much.  

            And after I graduated from seminary, and was called out to rural South Dakota – two farmers came up to my mom and dad’s house with their pick ups and hauled everything I owned to the parsonage. 

             It was more than I took to Japan, but it was still not a lot of stuff.

            This last move though – this one was hard 

            A whole house full of stuff.  A whole office full of books.  

            And even though no one told me I had to give up everything, I knew I couldn’t take everything. And I grieved.

            You wouldn’t think it would be so hard!    

            Trust Jesus!  They said.  It’s so simple!  They said. 

            But the truth is, when you follow Jesus, when you trust Jesus, there is grieving involved.

            There’s something else as well.  

            I think perhaps the young man thought he could follow Jesus – but just sort of keep all of his possessions on the side for when they returned from the journey.             

            Selling it all and giving it to the poor – that’s so permanent.             There’s no security in case things don’t turn out the way you planned.   

            There’s nothing to go back to if you have sold everything and given it to the poor.  

            It’s just like that old camp song we used to sing, “I have decided to follow Jesus…. no turning back, no turning back.”  

            And it’s an invitation to journey with Jesus, an invitation to life, an invitation to trust him –but don’t kid yourself that there’s no grieving involved.   

            Because trusting Jesus involves trusting him with – everything.                 Trusting Jesus involves trusting him with your soul and trusting him with your work, and trusting him with your relationships, and trusting him with your …. Finances.  Your wealth.    

            And you wouldn’t think it would be so hard. 

            There’s another side to Jesus’ hard saying.  

            When he tells the rich young man to sell everything, and give the proceeds to the poor – Jesus it not only inviting him to transform his life – he’s inviting him to transform the lives of the poor too.

            And he is creating a connection between them, between his future and their futures,  his life and their lives.    

            And that is what “eternal life” is about – it’s not simply about a secure future “after you die” – but it is a life worth living, right here and now, a life where we are walking with Jesus, and where 

            – whatever we have left behind – we have gained in a wider and more abundant community, a life of purpose, and where we have eternal value.  

            It’s the promise of Jesus to his disciples, who have given up everything.  

            Jesus promises that whatever they have given up – they will receive back 100 fold – in the abundance of family and relationships and the abundance of wealth.   What kind of wealth?  

            Well, I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that it is the wealth that comes from belonging to a community of believers with a shared mission of transforming the world around them. 

            That’s treasure in heaven.

            But there’s grieving involved.  

            Whether you turn away, like the rich man, or whether you are all in with Jesus, there is grieving involved.  

            The grieving involves realizing that everything you thought you owned – was never yours to begin with.  

            The grieving involves leaving behind things you thought were important.

            Because Jesus is looking at each of us with love, and every single day he makes the invitation, “Follow me.”  

            He makes that invitation to us as individuals – and he also makes that invitation to us as a congregation.

            He makes an invitation to us as individuals to be all in – to trust him and to follow him with our whole lives.

            And he is making an invitation to our congregation to do the same.  Feed the hungry. Give Shelter to the homeless.  Give hope to those who are on the edge.  Nurture the children.  

            Share the Grace of God in our community. 

             

             “Trust Jesus.”  That’s an invitation to stewardship – which is to entrust our WHOLE lives to him – the one who loves you so fully that he went to the cross for you. 

            At Grace we’re a small part of God’s BIG mission – and so every October we ask you consider your gift to Grace as a small part of your total commitment to following Jesus.  

            Because through this congregation you have experienced the Grace of God – and because through your giving, we can continue to embody the love of Jesus, and share his invitation with others, so that they can see his love and follow him as well.

            And what do we want our neighbors – our community – the world – to know – through our lives – and through our giving?

             The answer to the riddle – “Nothing” – that “Nothing” can separate us from the love of our generous God – in Christ Jesus our Lord.

            Amen

            

            

            

            

Generosity

I have been told by at least one person that I don't preach on Generosity enough.  I think that this person means, in particular, that I don't preach about financial generosity enough, about how to use financial resources for the glory of God.  It is possible that he is correct, for all of the predictable reasons:  1) urging people to give feels a lot like nagging when I imagine it, 2) I don't want people to think I need them to give so that I can get paid, and 3) I love preaching grace.  I confess that when I look at a scripture passage, for some reason, my mind does not go to financial generosity first -- even though I have studied and know that Jesus spoke about our money, and our relationship with it, far more than he spoke about other things that we may be more concerned about.

So I have been thinking about how to be more intentional in that regard, and I marked one Sunday of my sermon series, "Children in the Bible," to specifically address generosity.  It's the story about the little boy and his loaves and fishes.  This story is about generosity, isn't it?  The little boy didn't have money, but he did have a lunch, and that's almost the same thing.

But a funny thing happened on the way to preparing this sermon on generosity.  Children began to be separated from their parents at our southern border.  That did not seem to me in any way about the story of the loaves and fishes and the boy's generosity, until early this week, when I read a story about a woman from Guatemala who has just been re-united with her seven year old daughter after they were separated for two months.  The woman had advice for people who might be coming to the United States seeking asylum:

"If you are coming here to seek asylum, choose another country.  The laws here are harsh.  And the people don't have hearts."

The woman and her infant son had come here just before the zero tolerance policy took effect.  After they left her husband started receiving more death threats from the gangs, so he decided to take his daughter and flee.  They were separated at the border and her husband will be deported back to Guatemala.

Suddenly, when I looked at the story of the feeding of the five thousand, I saw something different than I had before.  I saw the people who are coming over our border, fleeing violence or hunger.  I heard the voices of the disciples, saying, "Send them away," because they were certain that there was not enough to go around.  And I thought of generosity, although a different kind of generosity.

It's not a generosity of material things:  money or food or possessions.   It's a generosity of heart, of what we are willing to believe about people, people we don't know.  Are most of them criminals, with just a few possible "good people"?  Or are most of them looking for the things we all look for:  freedom from fear and want, freedom of expression and worship?  I know that immigration is a complicated issue, and I absolutely know that not everyone who wants to come here will be able to come here, and I know that our borders aren't and can't be completely open.   But there absolutely is a legitimate humanitarian crisis going on in Honduras and El Salvador and Guatemala.  What are we going to believe about the people who are coming here?  Can we be both strong and compassionate?

I have seen things on the internet that accuse people who are coming here of "demanding citizenship."  I know this is not true.  Asking for asylum is not the same as demanding citizenship.  Citizenship is a long process that immigrants can only enter after several years.  It takes a long time to study, to learn the history of the United States.   I want to be generous with those who write these things, and believe that they have been misinformed, and if only they knew -- their hearts would be open.

Lately,  when I read the story of the feeding of the 5,000, I think that it's about a God who doesn't want to send anyone away, a God who is generous.  That's what Jesus wanted to show his disciples.  He wanted to show them a God who is big enough, and who has love enough to feed all who come to him, to save all who come to him, to welcome all who come to him.

The Perfect Gift

A friend told me recently that she had found the perfect gift for her husband, who is a wonderful cook.  It is a cookbook that has just come out.  All of the recipes are by chefs who are immigrants, and all of the proceeds help to advocate for immigrants and refugees to this country.  Her husband is passionate about the recipes and the cause.

It is, indeed, the perfect gift.

I think about this sometimes:  the perfect gift.  It's the one that I want to give.  The exact perfect gift:  the thing that you would never ask for, but want, nevertheless.  The perfect gift is not the one that is on the list of "things you want for Christmas" (although they are good too.)  The perfect gift isn't necessarily expensive.  Being pricey isn't what makes it perfect.  It might be small, or it might be large.  It just fits the person, perfectly.  It is something they want, without knowing it.

One year I gave everyone in the family scarves for Christmas.  They weren't terribly difficult to make, but it was more time-consuming than I thought it would be.  I'm not sure they were exactly the "perfect" gifts, but I wanted to give something that had a little bit of myself in it, so I knitted all these scarves.  One of them I just barely finished before the 4:00 service on Christmas Eve.  I'm actually not sure it was long enough, even now.

I want to give the perfect gift to everyone every year, but, to be truthful, I'm not sure I hit the mark that often.  I remember thinking I had something good for my mom one year, the year that my dad died.  Then my mom opened the Christmas present from my niece and nephew, pictures of them when they are small, put in a frame.  And she cried.  And I knew that they had given the perfect gift.

This is the season of gift-giving, and there are times that my heart just wants to give something to everyone.  Toys for children!  Books for everyone!  Something hand-made!  Then there are other times when it just seems overwhelming, and I wish I could be content with Grace.  Just the gift of life, of other people.  Just the gift of laughter, tears, someone who will not abandon you.  Just the gift of the herald angels singing, Glory to the newborn king, the gift of candles glowing, the gift of the silent night, the gift of the baby, joy to the world.

He was not what we asked for, not what we wanted, or at least, not what we think we wanted.  In the end we rejected him, in one way or another.  He is a baby who will create peace, and make a lot of trouble.  He will bring new life, in a world that mostly wants to stay the same.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His Heaven.
No hear may hear his coming
But in this world of sin
Where meek souls will receive him still
The dear Christ enters in.

Sermon for Pentecost 15: Shining in the Gift of Forgiveness

Matthew 18:21-35

            May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.

            Just the other day, I was doing some over-due straightening in my office and I came across an old notebook, from before my time. 

            It was the two words on the cover that got me:  “Experience Grace”, they read.

            I didn’t know what was inside the large notebook, but those two words got me thinking – that’s the point, isn’t it? 

            It is to experience Grace, ourselves, and for others to experience Grace through us. 

            Where, When, in whom do you “experience Grace”?

            I’m thinking about these two words today in part because of the parable before us, the parable which we often call “The unforgiving Servant.”   

            And to me, reading the parable, it’s pretty clear that this servant did NOT experience Grace.

             Or at least that’s what it seems like.  This story is troubling in so many ways. 

            The behavior of the servant is shocking and cruel, especially after his master forgives him so much.    

            And it might not be clear from our translation just how much the servant is forgiven.  What did we just hear?   

            The servant owed the master 10,000 talents.  That seems like a large amount of money – but do you know how much one talent is worth? 

            One talent is about 15 year’s worth of wages for a common laborer.  Think about that.

            And what the slave initially says to the master is, “be patient with me, and I will pay everything back.” 

            And, let’s be honest here, there’s no hope that he will be able to do that.  Unless he wins the lottery, which they didn’t have at Jesus’ time. 

            So he asks for patience, and he gets something much more – his master forgives him the whole enormous debt. 

            He gets grace. 

            But it seems like he doesn’t really “get it”.

            Because after receiving this incredible news, this unbelievable blessing, that his whole unpayable debt is gone and he is free – he goes out and shakes down the first servant who owes him one hundred denarius (and one denarius was about a day’s wage

             He even has the other servant thrown in prison. 

            It’s impossible to know what was going through this servant’s mind. 

            Could he still be trying to pay back that impossible debt, even though it’s gone?

             Or could he be thinking that now that he’s free and clear, now is the time for him to get a little ahead.  Or something else entirely?

             This servant has been given Grace --  which is extravagant forgiveness – but he somehow doesn’t get it.

            Where – or when  -- or how have you experienced Grace?

            I think that this story is also troubling because what the servant should do in this case is so obvious – it’s so clear – that it doesn’t seem possible that anyone would react this way. 

            How could anyone be forgiven millions of dollars in debt – and not be transformed by this experience? 

            Of course, you receive forgiveness, and you pass that forgiveness along.

            But in truth, we know, that this parable is a story.  It tells us the truth, but we also know that forgiveness is not always so easy or obvious, that some offenses are not just a hundred denarius.    

            I will always remember one Sunday morning in my first congregation. 

           

            I remember that the gospel reading was on Forgiveness – and I had, sometime during the week, decided that I was going to preach on one of the other lessons, because (for some reason) I didn’t want to preach on forgiveness. 

            I don’t even remember why I thought that. 

            And there I was, with my fine sermon in front of me, and I got up in the pulpit and in front of me sat a mom whose young son had been beaten up for $2.00. 

            Two bucks he had to buy treats for the 4^th of July. 

            His leg had been broken in 3 places and he had to spend the rest of the summer in a cast.  And the other boys – there were 2 or three – none of them had called to even say “I’m sorry.” 

            All of this happened in rural South Dakota.   Should she forgive them?  What would you do? 

            So forgiveness is not so easy to practice.  Is it?  It’s complicated and messy, and even though we know we have been forgiven, it is not automatic.

            But this parable does tell us some truths about forgiveness.  And the first truth this parable tells us is that forgiveness is a gift.  And that the gift of forgiveness  -- of grace – from God is a gift almost unfathomable in its depth and breadth and height ….

             Wait – not “almost”  according to the parable,

            it’s like being forgiven millions of dollars, it’s a gap that can never ever be closed. 

            Do we even think this way? 

            That there is a uncloseable gap between God and us – and that Jesus has closed it by his death and resurrection.  And there’s no way we can pay it back. 

            Don’t even try.   Don’t even try.

            There’s no way we can pay it back.  But you know what – we can pay it forward.   Forgiven people – forgive people.

             Loved people – serve people.

             That’s another truth of the parable – that the King who forgives the slave – expects that slave to pay it forward – expects the slave who has experienced grace – to help other people to experience it too.

            When, where, in whom have you experienced -- Grace? 

            A number of years ago I was visiting at the hospital. 

            Somehow I had gotten my car into a small space, and when I tried to leave the parking ramp, the space was even smaller than I remembered.

             So I was having some difficulty trying to get out.  And as I was moving inch by inch I happened to bump another car.  While I had my head on the steering wheel in despair, I saw that the driver was in that car. 

            He actually helped me get out of the jam, and afterwards we exchanged numbers and I said that I would pay for any damage to his car. 

            But after a couple of weeks, I realized that he never called me.  “I think he forgave you,” was one opinion.

            When where, in whom have you experienced – Grace?

            Have you received a smile in return for a harsh word, an unexpected gift, a hand up when you were down?  Have you seen something beautiful in the darkness? 

            Have you been welcomed when you never thought you would be?  Have you been forgiven when you did not deserve it?   

            Have you come to the table and had the bread of life put into your hands, your open hands, and heard the words, “The body of Christ is given for YOU?” 

            When, where, in whom – have you experienced Grace?

            Because Forgiveness is a gift that we have been given – but like every other gift from heaven – it is a gift meant to be shared. 

           

            And again, this is stewardship –stewardship of forgiveness – (because it was never ours to begin with) -- to take that grace we have experienced and to pass it along – to the weary and the hard-hearted, to the down and out and the up and coming, to the young and the old, to everyone who needs it.  70 X 7….

            It is not easy – O brothers and sisters – it is not easy – it’s not any easier than loosening our grip on our pocketbook –and we will fail a lot just like we fail at everything else that we practice. 

            But God picks us up and keeps pouring that Grace into our hearts, every single day.  

            So that the world – so that our neighbors – so that we – may experience Grace.

            AMEN

           

           

           

           

           

From My Missionary Days

This week's gospel reading has to do with being salt and light, and for some reason, it makes me think back to my days as a missionary in Japan.  I suppose when I considered what in God's name I was doing over in Japan being a missionary, I more often thought of it that way:  I may not be making great big visible waves (I thought), but I was being salt and light by being God's person in Japan.

But when I start thinking back to those days so long ago, I also remember a particular passage of scripture.  It was the scripture verse that I used for one of the only two sermons I preached in Japan.  It was a scripture verse from Ephesians 2, about how Jesus has broken down the walls that separate us, and made us into one people.

Of course, the author of the letter to the Ephesians is referencing two particular groups:  Jews and Gentiles.  They were divided by culture and religion.  The Gentiles were regarded as far away from God.  There was a 'dividing wall of hostility' between them.  But, not any more.  Jesus reconciled them to one another on the cross.

Think about that.  Jesus reconciled them not just to himself, but to one another.

So, I'm thinking about dividing walls of hostility right now.  And not just that great big long expensive one that the President wants to build on the southern border.  And actually, not even primarily that one.  I am thinking about all of the other dividing walls of hostility that there are, even though Jesus says that through his cross, they don't exist.

I recently saw a message on social media about how terrible it is to care more about refugees than it is about homeless veterans.  And I thought:  who told us we had to choose?  Someone is erecting a dividing wall of hostility, and to what end?  There is the wall between the women who marched and the women who did not think it was necessary to march.  There are walls between immigrant and native, documented and undocumented, and Christian and Christian.

I was not born yesterday.  There are real differences between us.  There are things that each of us are right about, and wrong about.  But you know what?  There are also fake differences between us.  We really are all in the same boat.  We all bleed, we all fall down, we're all going to die.  We are also all beloved by God, for some strange reason.

Another person wrote on a social media post that he is not going to care about refugees because, "their lives are not more important than mine."  All right.  But their lives are not LESS important than mine, either.

I am a person of privilege.  I have never been a refugee.  I have never had to flee my home.  In fact, for most of my life, I have fit in with my surroundings pretty well.  But for a few years I at least knew what it felt like to be a stranger, a foreigner whose tongue tripped over the new words she was learning, who often got lost and had to rely on the kindness of strangers, who stuck out where-ever she went.

And I tell you what:  that experience made me cling to the cross, and find my hope in the demolition of those dividing walls.  For in all of our beautiful diversity, and for all that we refuse to see it or believe it, it is still true that we are no longer strangers or sojourners, but we are children of God, with Christ himself the cornerstone.

High Expectations, No Judgment

In about a week, my congregation is embarking on a journey.

We are going through a program called "Committed to Christ".  We'll be journeying together on Sunday mornings, but some of us as well will be studying together in small groups, and some perhaps will be doing daily devotions with their families.

In the interest of full disclosure, I need to confess that when I first looked at "Committed to Christ", I did not realize that it was a certain kind of Stewardship program.  I only knew that it was dealing with  some of the faith practises of discipleship, and that it fostered participation in small groups.  I was really interested in getting some small groups activated this fall.

Each week, people in my congregation are going to be encouraged to make a deeper commitment to Christ in some area or another of discipleship:  one week it might be prayer, another week reading the Bible more frequently, and still week, on increasing our commitment to serving others.

As I was studying the materials, I was also struck by a particular terminology used:  the book talks about being a "high expectation" congregation.

Now, I know what this means.  This means we want to be a congregation that expects people to do more than just come to worship on Sunday morning.  We want to be a congregation that expects people to live out their commitment to Christ every day of the week, and in more than one way.  We want to be a congregation that is hungry for God, to know and follow Jesus more nearly.

What could possibly be wrong with that?

Nothing, really.

Except.... well, I'll be honest.  I worry a little about the possibility of creeping judgmentalism in a high expectation congregation.  While I love for us to have higher expectations of ourselves as Christians, and I want people to want to worship more,  pray more, serve more, and learn more, I worry a little about our predilection to measure ourselves or others according to these high expectations.  And there is so much we don't know.

When someone doesn't come to church every single Sunday (and by the way, perfect attendance has become increasingly rare), we don't know if it is because they have had to take a second or third job, or because their child had a meltdown right before church, or because they were worshipping somewhere else this week.  When someone doesn't want to sit on a particular committee that is near and dear to our heart, we don't know if it is because they are already overloaded at work or home, or because there is another cause that is nearer and dearer to their hearts, or for some other reason.

Then I worry too that we give the impression that, for the most part, discipleship is about hanging around church a lot.  I wonder if this study will make us ponder what it means to be disciples in our daily lives, in our families, at work, in our community?   Our high expectations for ourselves might be different than someone else's.

And then there's grace -- my favorite thing.  I love grace even more than I love high expectations, and being a high expectation church.  Maybe for me, a high expectation church would have these high expectations -- we would worship more, pray more, serve more, give more -- and we would expect that we would fall down on the job.  We would expect that sometimes we would be bad at it, despite our best efforts.  We would develop high expectations for mercy, and forgiveness, and develop a deeper trust in God who loves us when our prayers fall flat, when our well runs dry, when we fail to show up, when we have nothing to give.  We would develop high expectations for mercy, and forgiveness, and perhaps even learn to extend that mercy and forgiveness to others.

That is the kind of high expectation church I want to be -- starting with myself.

Why I Go Over To the Pre-School

Because it is summer, I have not had as many chapel services at the pre-school, and I have been missing my regular dates with the children there.  I try to work in some free time visiting the classrooms, but it's hard.  We are working on so many things at the church right now:  getting people ready to visit homebound members with communion, working on a small group program for the fall, welcoming a group of new members to the congregation, planning worship and some new "All Ages Learning" for the fall.

But today, I took a break, and I went over to the pre-school for a little while.

It is in my letter of call, after all.  Right there in black and white, one of my responsibilities is "relating to the pre-school."

But that's not why I go.

It was lunch time when I walked in the door.  A couple of the classrooms were in the middle of their lunch.  As I approached their table, one little boy jumped up and ran to hug my legs.   A little girl came over and tugged on my skirt.  "I got so big!"  she said.  Two or three others said the same thing: "I got so big!"  they told me.  I agreed.   They are growing all the time.

I admired ribbons and new tennis shoes and t shirts with dinosaurs.  Students told me about baby brothers and puppies and everything they were excited about, which was everything.  When one group was done eating, another group arrived.  Their teacher asked if I would say table grace for them.

Some younger children came in as well, following their teacher like ducklings following their mama. When one little girl saw me, she waved as if I were her long-lost cousin.

I don't go over to the school as often as I should.  There are so many lists of things to do, strategies to accomplish, goals to achieve, and I forget that knowing the children is as important as any goal, task or strategy.

But today I remembered.  I remembered that my work is Grace and Grace is my work.  My work is loving the children and the shut ins, saying prayers and bringing bread and wine, and being there.  All of my lists and strategies are worthless if I forget.   I walked into the school and got hugged around the legs, and I remembered the grace of being known and loved for no particular reason, just because you are.

There are mysteries in the universe, and I am called to make them known, as they are made known to me.  It's not a strategy.  It's just love.  It's just the grace of God, which is being loved, just because you are.