“PERSECUTING JESUS”
Acts 9
Faith United
April 22, 2007
God is very funny
when you think about it
God never does things the way anyone would expect
He’s like the best kind of screenplay writer
I mean, you never expect the ending to be what it is
when God writes the story
I love good stories
and I especially love stories that surprise me
Like those rare TV shows or movies
where the story line takes a whole different turn
and it ends up in a way that is completely unexpected
unpredictable
God’s like that
God doesn’t seem to like predictability
and that is very evident in Jesus’ life
But this story--
no one would have ever seen it coming
NO ONE would have predicted this outcome
Saul was… well, we can’t use those words in church--
but he was a bad guy
He was an ancient terrorist
That’s not an exaageration
He was evil
He was very focused, very, very smart
and very intense
He was of the tribe of Benjamin
His family line was pure and good and holy
He was the most religious person you’d ever want to meet
But his fervor and commitment were misguided
though he truly believed he was doing what was right
in the sight of God
by making sure those Christians were wiped out
He held the coats of the people
who threw stones at Stephen until he was dead
Saul held their coats and witnessed the whole thing
He sought out Christians, those believers in this Jesus dude --
and he hauled them for arrest and execution
He was a scary guy
I bet you could see it in his eyes
the intensity, the fire, the unwavering passion of his mission
Christians hated him and they feared him
because when you use the name of God
to back up your cause, well, you’ve got some power there
you can make people follow,
no matter how absurd and destructive the mission
I would have hated Saul if I lived back then
I think if we were all honest, we all would
Why would God even bother with the likes of him?
There was no hope for that guy
he knew everything he needed to know
he could quote scripture, verse and text
to justify the killing and persecutions
to justify his evil
He was a powerful man and very arrogant
believing so strongly that he was right
and all those people who believed in Jesus were not only
dead wrong,
but he believed they were going against
the very truth of God
Saul was really, really intense
And I suppose God realized that if God was going to get Saul’s attention
and get him to listen,
God would have to do something really dramatic
A mere burning bush wouldn’t be enough
even a voice from heaven coming out of the clouds
wouldn’t be quite enough to convince Saul
not even a really good sermon
Saul needed something really intense
Saul… needed to be blown away, knocked over,
shaken up a bit
And so he was
He was pumped that day
Man, he was so angry and he fed on that anger
You know how that is?
When you’re so focused on being angry
and you feed it, maybe someone did you wrong
and you brood on it, you become obsessed with it
and the anger gets bigger and bigger
Well, he was out to get more Christians
He was going blow THEM away
He was going to get ém
They made him really mad
and he wanted them to pay
So he went to the high priest for permission
to pick up anyone along the way to Damascus
that followed the way of Jesus
so he could drag them in
bind them up and give them their due
As he walked quickly along the road
breathing, murmuring murderous threats under his breath
BAM!
Next thing he knew he was on the ground
He didn’t feel any pain, save for the bump on the back of his head
where he hit the dirt
He tried to open his eyes
and the light was blinding him, making his eyes water
he tried to squint and see what was going on
He couldn’t see his fellow travelers nearby
He couldn’t see anything for the blinding light
He shook his head, trying to clear it
and he heard a voice that seemed to come from every direction
“Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” the voice sounded pained
“Who are you?” he yelled out into the blindness
The voice was strangely gentle
“I’m Jesus, the one you’re persecuting…”
Jesus! The one they claimed had risen from the dead?
What, is this another one of those tricks by those Jesus People?
Before he could open his mouth,
the gentle voice said, “I am the one you are persecuting
with all your actions, your murderous schemes….
but get up now, go into the city, and you will be told what to do.”
Well, Saul must have been shaken up alright,
because NO ONE tells Saul what to do
but the poor violent man
was visibly trembling, almost weeping,
brought to his knees by this blinding light
The men who stood with Saul were struck speechless
their own knees trembling
trying to shield their eyes from the light
They heard the voice, but they didn’t see where it was coming from
Saul got up,
and he kept blinking, but his eyes couldn’t see
he was suddenly blinded
which terrified him – what was happening?
His comrades took his arms and led him forth
as he mumbled something about having to go into the city
they could feel his trembling arms
and they wondered….
They took care of him, this powerful man suddenly brought down
blind and helpless
and they were confused
He refused to eat or drink for three days
he seemed to be waiting for something or someone
he wouldn’t tell them
Meanwhile, God needed to get someone else’s attention
his name was Ananias
God told Ananias what to do,
he was to go to the street called Straight
to the house of Judas—different Judas—
and ask for the man named Saul
Saul is praying, and ''Ananias,'' God said, ''he’s having a vision, a dream
and you’re in it…
He will see you coming in to lay your hands on him
to heal him and bring back his sight….”
''Whoa, God…'' said Ananias
(apparently Ananias was pretty familiar with God)
''No way, God, no way… do you know who this guy is?
He is responsible for so many deaths of your people
He has terrorized us, persecuted us
kept us living in fear for our lives
You’re telling me, you want me to help HIM?
Give me a break… he is evil, God, downright evil...''
and God says, ''Ananias, shh! Stop talking!
Shut up and listen!"
(Well, maybe not exactly…)
But God says “Surprise! I’ve chosen him
to bring my good news to the non-Jews,
to the people of Israel and to kings…
don’t worry, he knows it ain’t going to be easy…
But go, Ananias…”
I can just see Ananias shaking his head,
maybe grumbling under his breath,
but knowing that he has to do what God wants,
no matter how absurd it seems
So he goes to the house on the street called Straight
he asks for Saul
and he sees him
He’s not the overpowering, frightening, threatening person
he’d once seen
but now, he was a trembling, vulnerable man
his eyes wide open, searching the room
but seeing nothing
he looked … kind of pitiful
So Ananias had pity on him
and reached out a trembling hand to his enemy
the persecutor of his people
and he called him….. “Brother.”
You could have heard a pin drop
Ananias reached out his hand and laid it on Saul’s head
“Brother Saul,” he said in a trembling voice,
“the Lord Jesus, the one who appeared to you on your way here
he has sent me to you so that you may regain your sight
and be filled with the Holy Spirit.”
And in that moment,
it was like scales literally fell off of Saul’s eyes
he once was blind, but now he saw
and he saw things a whole lot differently
Dear God, everything was different
He looked at Ananias, the man still wary of him
still unsure of whether to trust him or not
and he grasped his hand in humble gratitude
and Ananias was ....astounded
When Saul got up,
he was taken to a body of water to be baptized
in the name of Jesus Christ
and he was led back to the house
to get something to eat in order to regain his strength
He was so hungry by now…
his hands still shook as he lifted the food to his mouth
and gulped the water and the wine
Ananias just stared at him, speechless
He remembered Stephen, a dear friend who loved Jesus
and who died under the watchful eye of this Saul
just because he believed in Jesus
and he tried to hate this man
but something inside of him softened
even… forgave
there was something different about him
he trusted God to know what he was doing
It’s quite a story
and for centuries a lot of people have felt pressure
to come up with just as good a story
as to how they came to love Jesus
But a lot of us don’t get knocked down by a blinding light
we can’t remember a date or time that Jesus came into our hearts
and set them on fire
I relate more to Ananias
who grew up in the faith
who got to know God over time, throughout his life
being raised by religious parents
being taught the stories of his people’s faith
and coming to claim it as his own
Ananias, just a quiet, regular guy who loved God
who was willing to trust God enough
to do what God called him to do
to reach out to his enemy and have mercy
despite all the good reasons not to…
Ananias’ call was no less dramatic than Saul’s
he was literally called to love his enemy
to be an agent of reconciliation and peace
to even HEAL his enemy
when something inside of him wanted to throw
a rock at him for all he’d done
But Ananias had a heart full of Jesus
and he couldn’t return evil for evil
Saul was so bullheaded, so arrogant, so focused and driven
that he NEEDED to be knocked down, shaken up
He needed to fast for three days, so that he was emptied out
making room for God to fill him up
and change him from the inside out
before he could do what God called him to do
And Saul became Paul… the one who got out there
and got this church thing going
because he knew more than anyone, that we never come to Christ alone
Saul was knocked down, blinded by the light
but then God called in the church to finish the job
God used Ananias and others
to minister to Saul, to care for him
and fill him up again
Saul’s conversion was not a solitary experience
God used several people to help bring it about
And the same is true with us
how we come to believe is different for all of us
some of us need to be knocked down and shaken up
to really get our attention
some of us just kind of grow into it
always learning the stories, being raised in the faith
and then at some point coming to claim it as our own
God comes to us in the ways that we can best receive him
the ways that best get our attention
And we need each other
I hear people say, ''oh, I believe in God, I just don’t come to church''
well, that’s not what God ever intended
God always does God’s work in community
it’s not something meant for just us alone
We need each other to help each other find our way
to keep us accountable
to bind our wounds and celebrate our joys
the Church is God’s way of shaping us
into the people God wants us to be
and we, too, can be transformed
We’re never too old to be surprised
And the horrifying news of this past week in Virginia
is just another stark reminder of just how important our call is
Our call to follow Jesus in his ways of peace
to grieve the evil that goes on
to grieve with Jesus himself when people choose death and violence
instead of resurrection life that transforms and renews
We see in times like this how destructive it is to hold onto our anger
to nurse it, coddle it, feed it, until it becomes a burning rage
that can kill both bodies and spirits
But we are people of the Resurrection
we believe in a different kind of power
and the world is aching to be renewed by that same power
people are hungry, they are empty and starving to be loved
we all need to belong
we all need to have that emptiness filled
we all need mercy so badly
So, today, receive that mercy,
receive that resurrection power that we know in Christ
receive it every day
and always be willing to be surprised
This story reminds us that the life of faith is not an easy ride
without jolts and sudden jerks
and stomach-lurching drops,
sharp, sudden turns in our path
that leave us breathless and blown away
Let God blow you away
and follow where God leads you and me
because every day can be Easter
every day the light can shine so bright that it amazes us
and all the colors around us begin to look differently
We see living proofs of Easter power every day
let’s BE living proof of the power of resurrection
in a world that is so full of senseless death
let’s BE living proof of the transforming, life-changing love of God
in a world so bent on hate
let’s be followers of the way
and follow the path where Jesus walks….
we may just be surprised....
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Wanna Try It?
In church I once told the story of standing in line at a department store, on a break from college and wearing my “Messiah College” T-shirt. The woman behind the counter pointed at my shirt and started laughing. “Are you…” she gasped out, “are you one of them born again Christians?”
I was really embarrassed. ‘Uh, yeah, I guess,’ I said. She wiped her eyes, still giggling. “I thought so.”
I left the store, without purchasing anything—my face very hot.
I think about that incident a lot. Especially lately, as I go around the community in Kearney or wherever, and someone introduces me as “Pastor Peggy.” Or I get my hair cut and the hairdresser asks me what I do for a living. I hate that. When someone finds out I’m a pastor, they start acting weird.
“How interesting,” they say, and then don’t say anything after that. Or they tell me what I call their “pastor horror stories”—about a pastor that “done them wrong.” Offended them directly, neglected to do something, or was just plain whacko. I guess they’re just making conversation. I keep thinking I need to think up some “hairstylist horror stories,” just so I’m ready.
My point is, the people out there often don’t think too much of us in here, in the Church. Sometimes I really can’t blame them. I’ve heard stories that would make Mother Teresa embarrassed to be a Christian.
I try to teach my daughter not to hate anybody, and that is difficult, because as you know, she’s in middle school, and middle school can be a vicious place. But I’m finding, really, that adulthood is not too much different than middle school. We still talk about people behind their backs, we still believe and spread vicious rumors about people, we still judge people for what they do or what their children do, we still exclude people if they aren’t like us, we dismiss people because of their political views or religious views, or when someone is in trouble, we stand back and say “what a shame” and leave them alone—all alone. I tell Sarah that middle school is preparing her for life, strangely enough. The only difference is that adults should know better.
There’s been a lot of talk for decades now of what is called “dysfunctional families.” After all this time, I think we’re learning that we all are, in some way, dysfunctional. We don’t always behave in healthy ways. We don’t live up to our potential. We hurt the people we love. Or as St. Paul would say it, “We all fall short of the glory of God.” The Church is made up of “glory-deficient people.” I believe as humans, we are all “glory-deficient.” G.K. Chesteron, an early 20th century writer, once wrote that Christianity has not failed; it has been found difficult and therefore untried.
Love your neighbor? Pray for your enemies? Jesus was surely exaagerating! Don’t take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth? Didn’t Moses say we could? Yeah, but Jesus said no. Not anymore. Bottom line: love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and soul and strength, and your neighbor as yourself. “Do that,” Jesus said, “and you will live.”
It’s never been tried. We keep falling short. That’s what Lent reminds us of. That we need to keep trying. It’s a new day. Today we start again. We dare to be different than the rest of the world in all its meanness, hostility and self-preservation. We look at the Cross. We peek into the Empty Tomb. And we remember that Love Always Wins. Love is the cliff notes to the Gospel. Love God, love your neighbor, love yourself. Let’s try it just for one day. Then another, then another. Because while we may be “glory-deficient” by nature, God has a way of lighting us up with amazing glory when we get out of the way. Easter is coming. I'm thinking we ought to try Jesus’ way, and make it our own.
I was really embarrassed. ‘Uh, yeah, I guess,’ I said. She wiped her eyes, still giggling. “I thought so.”
I left the store, without purchasing anything—my face very hot.
I think about that incident a lot. Especially lately, as I go around the community in Kearney or wherever, and someone introduces me as “Pastor Peggy.” Or I get my hair cut and the hairdresser asks me what I do for a living. I hate that. When someone finds out I’m a pastor, they start acting weird.
“How interesting,” they say, and then don’t say anything after that. Or they tell me what I call their “pastor horror stories”—about a pastor that “done them wrong.” Offended them directly, neglected to do something, or was just plain whacko. I guess they’re just making conversation. I keep thinking I need to think up some “hairstylist horror stories,” just so I’m ready.
My point is, the people out there often don’t think too much of us in here, in the Church. Sometimes I really can’t blame them. I’ve heard stories that would make Mother Teresa embarrassed to be a Christian.
I try to teach my daughter not to hate anybody, and that is difficult, because as you know, she’s in middle school, and middle school can be a vicious place. But I’m finding, really, that adulthood is not too much different than middle school. We still talk about people behind their backs, we still believe and spread vicious rumors about people, we still judge people for what they do or what their children do, we still exclude people if they aren’t like us, we dismiss people because of their political views or religious views, or when someone is in trouble, we stand back and say “what a shame” and leave them alone—all alone. I tell Sarah that middle school is preparing her for life, strangely enough. The only difference is that adults should know better.
There’s been a lot of talk for decades now of what is called “dysfunctional families.” After all this time, I think we’re learning that we all are, in some way, dysfunctional. We don’t always behave in healthy ways. We don’t live up to our potential. We hurt the people we love. Or as St. Paul would say it, “We all fall short of the glory of God.” The Church is made up of “glory-deficient people.” I believe as humans, we are all “glory-deficient.” G.K. Chesteron, an early 20th century writer, once wrote that Christianity has not failed; it has been found difficult and therefore untried.
Love your neighbor? Pray for your enemies? Jesus was surely exaagerating! Don’t take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth? Didn’t Moses say we could? Yeah, but Jesus said no. Not anymore. Bottom line: love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and soul and strength, and your neighbor as yourself. “Do that,” Jesus said, “and you will live.”
It’s never been tried. We keep falling short. That’s what Lent reminds us of. That we need to keep trying. It’s a new day. Today we start again. We dare to be different than the rest of the world in all its meanness, hostility and self-preservation. We look at the Cross. We peek into the Empty Tomb. And we remember that Love Always Wins. Love is the cliff notes to the Gospel. Love God, love your neighbor, love yourself. Let’s try it just for one day. Then another, then another. Because while we may be “glory-deficient” by nature, God has a way of lighting us up with amazing glory when we get out of the way. Easter is coming. I'm thinking we ought to try Jesus’ way, and make it our own.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Little Church on the Prairie
Yesterday I had lunch with a young woman who's been coming to our church pretty regularly. Her name is Jennifer, and she's opened her first chiropractic office here in town and is struggling to make a go of it. I thought it'd be fun to have lunch and get to know her a bit better.
We met at the Sportsmen's Bar and Grill, which is the kind of place that would delight my father, who is always looking for "native places" to eat and partake of the culture of a particular town. We try to keep him from gawking, or asking stupid questions! The Sportsmen's is a popular local bar, with the bar up front, and the big room in the back for people who just want to eat and not imbibe. In fact, if you don't want to walk through the bar, there is a separate door around the side of the building where you can walk in, seat yourself, and forget you're eating at a bar-- if that sort of thing bothers you.
Anway, I met Jennifer there for lunch. The Burger Basket special there is under $5, and you can get a chef salad for just over $5, that will fill you up the rest of the day and not even make you feel like you sacrificed much in avoiding trans-fat. In other words, it's a good place for a preacher and a just-starting-out chiropractor to have lunch. It doesn't dent the budget too badly.
As Jennifer and I got to talking over Diet Cokes, she mentioned that her grandmother died. I offered my polite condolences. She was 93, she said, and was in a nursing home. It was a shame, she mentioned, that her grandmother couldn't be buried out of her church, as it had closed many years ago. The cemetary, though, was still there, and if the present temperatures rose as forecasted, getting out to the cemetary on dirt roads could prove to be more than interesting. She had lived out in the middle of nowhere. Casually I asked, "where is nowhere?"
"A little area called New Virginia," she said, shrugging.
I nearly choked on my julienne ham.
When I recovered, I said, "I was the pastor who was there when the church closed! Who's your grandmother?"
She laughed as she told me Charlotte Peterson.
Dear God.
The year I graduated from seminary in Kansas City, Missouri, I was appointed to a three-point charge in South Central Nebraska. Guide Rock, Cowles, and New Virginia. The New Virginia Church was a little white church literally out in the middle of nowhere. Seven miles out a dirt road. There were only ten members left there, but they all came once a month sometime after noon. When I was finished with worship at the Guide Rock UMC, I headed out into the wilderness to New Virginia for a potluck dinner that was set out on a board across the back seats of the little church. The women brought in jugs of water, as there was no plumbing in the church-- something I assumed quickly when I saw the two outhouses out back, one for men, one for women. The day Larry and I drove out there to check out the church before I started there, it was a typical windy Nebraska summer day. There was nothing out there to stop the wind, the church was on a slight hill of wide-open prairie. I remember you could hardly open the car door without it blowing back closed.
The first day I preached at New Virginia, it had rained two inches the night before. I was driving my F150 rear-wheel drive pick up truck at the time, and for 7 miles I clutched the steering wheel, trying to keep the truck on the muddy, soupy dirt road. My stepson Michael, who was then 13, was with me, enjoying my intense effort not to say any cuss words out loud. When I finally pulled up to the church, the 5 men of the church stood on the front porch of the little white clapboard church. Wayne, the youngest of them at 69, chuckled.
"Normally," he said, "when it rains 2 inches we cancel church because of the mud. But we all wanted to see this New Jersey preacher drive her pick up truck out our road!" They all laughed. I smiled a tense smile.
Michael spoke up. "Oh, she's willing to drive in any kind of conditions!" he volunteered.
The covered dishes were all laid out on the back row of chairs. Some of the women complained that it had started to all get cold while they were waiting for me. I was still too shaken to feel bad. We all got something to eat and balanced our paper plates on our knees, and tried to hold a plastic cup of water with one hand and eat with the other, while trying not to spill the abundant contents of our plates. After lunch, they all packed up the dirty dishes to take home to wash, and separated into their usual spots. Five men on one side of the church and five women on the other. As was predicted, about three of them were snoring loudly before the service was over.
They'd been talking for several months about closing the church, as they were down to ten members, and their strongest financial supporter, Charlotte Petersen, would be moving to town to be closer to her children. She hated to tear herself away from her beloved farm and little church, but it was the practical thing to do. I preached at New Virginia and ate their food just 6 times before we closed the church. The day we held the last service, we invited everyone who ever cared about the little church to come. We filled it to overflowing. We told stories, we wrote down the history, we sang hymns and honored the life of that little church who boasted being the church of the writer Willa Cather. We even had a baptism of one of the grandchildren of one of the members. We took a group picture of the last 10 members, along with me and the District Superintendent, Sam Rathod. It was a party that day, and there was more food than could be held on just 8 chairs in the back.
4 years later, I went to be the associate pastor in Aurora, Nebraska, and when I went to the senior citizen's lunch, there was Charlotte Petersen. I reminded her who I was, and her face lit up just remembering her precious little church where she left her heart, and she was glad for the connection. She had come to Aurora to live near some of her family. I hadn't known where she had moved to when she left New Virginia. And here she was.
It's been 8 years since I left Aurora and Nebraska. I went to the nursing home at Aurora a year ago after we moved back to Nebraska, when Larry told me that he met Charlotte there. She no longer remembered me, because she was starting to fail. She didn't remember a lot of things anymore, but when I mentioned New Virginia, her face brightened up as if she'd seen Jesus himself. She remembered her home church and her farm. That's one thing that even old age wouldn't let her forget. The little white church on the windy prairie, where you better hold on tight to your hat, and where you just stay home if it rained more than 2 inches if you were smart and not some dumb preacher from New Jersey.
"I knew Charlotte," I told her granddaughter Jennifer. We shared stories of the little place in the middle of nowhere called New Virgina, where there is now only a cemetary, and last I saw, the little white church was boarded up and padlocked and surrounded by tall grasses. For a moment I could smell the aroma of church potluck dishes mixed with the sweet musty smell of old wood. I could feel the wind on my face, trying to knock me over, and... people. People who loved their land, their church, their home, and who hated to say goodbye. Dear Charlotte gets to go back to the prairie, the place she loved the most, and a part of her will always be where the wind whips across the prairie, and the church bell can be heard for miles down the old dirt road.
See you later, Charlotte.
We met at the Sportsmen's Bar and Grill, which is the kind of place that would delight my father, who is always looking for "native places" to eat and partake of the culture of a particular town. We try to keep him from gawking, or asking stupid questions! The Sportsmen's is a popular local bar, with the bar up front, and the big room in the back for people who just want to eat and not imbibe. In fact, if you don't want to walk through the bar, there is a separate door around the side of the building where you can walk in, seat yourself, and forget you're eating at a bar-- if that sort of thing bothers you.
Anway, I met Jennifer there for lunch. The Burger Basket special there is under $5, and you can get a chef salad for just over $5, that will fill you up the rest of the day and not even make you feel like you sacrificed much in avoiding trans-fat. In other words, it's a good place for a preacher and a just-starting-out chiropractor to have lunch. It doesn't dent the budget too badly.
As Jennifer and I got to talking over Diet Cokes, she mentioned that her grandmother died. I offered my polite condolences. She was 93, she said, and was in a nursing home. It was a shame, she mentioned, that her grandmother couldn't be buried out of her church, as it had closed many years ago. The cemetary, though, was still there, and if the present temperatures rose as forecasted, getting out to the cemetary on dirt roads could prove to be more than interesting. She had lived out in the middle of nowhere. Casually I asked, "where is nowhere?"
"A little area called New Virginia," she said, shrugging.
I nearly choked on my julienne ham.
When I recovered, I said, "I was the pastor who was there when the church closed! Who's your grandmother?"
She laughed as she told me Charlotte Peterson.
Dear God.
The year I graduated from seminary in Kansas City, Missouri, I was appointed to a three-point charge in South Central Nebraska. Guide Rock, Cowles, and New Virginia. The New Virginia Church was a little white church literally out in the middle of nowhere. Seven miles out a dirt road. There were only ten members left there, but they all came once a month sometime after noon. When I was finished with worship at the Guide Rock UMC, I headed out into the wilderness to New Virginia for a potluck dinner that was set out on a board across the back seats of the little church. The women brought in jugs of water, as there was no plumbing in the church-- something I assumed quickly when I saw the two outhouses out back, one for men, one for women. The day Larry and I drove out there to check out the church before I started there, it was a typical windy Nebraska summer day. There was nothing out there to stop the wind, the church was on a slight hill of wide-open prairie. I remember you could hardly open the car door without it blowing back closed.
The first day I preached at New Virginia, it had rained two inches the night before. I was driving my F150 rear-wheel drive pick up truck at the time, and for 7 miles I clutched the steering wheel, trying to keep the truck on the muddy, soupy dirt road. My stepson Michael, who was then 13, was with me, enjoying my intense effort not to say any cuss words out loud. When I finally pulled up to the church, the 5 men of the church stood on the front porch of the little white clapboard church. Wayne, the youngest of them at 69, chuckled.
"Normally," he said, "when it rains 2 inches we cancel church because of the mud. But we all wanted to see this New Jersey preacher drive her pick up truck out our road!" They all laughed. I smiled a tense smile.
Michael spoke up. "Oh, she's willing to drive in any kind of conditions!" he volunteered.
The covered dishes were all laid out on the back row of chairs. Some of the women complained that it had started to all get cold while they were waiting for me. I was still too shaken to feel bad. We all got something to eat and balanced our paper plates on our knees, and tried to hold a plastic cup of water with one hand and eat with the other, while trying not to spill the abundant contents of our plates. After lunch, they all packed up the dirty dishes to take home to wash, and separated into their usual spots. Five men on one side of the church and five women on the other. As was predicted, about three of them were snoring loudly before the service was over.
They'd been talking for several months about closing the church, as they were down to ten members, and their strongest financial supporter, Charlotte Petersen, would be moving to town to be closer to her children. She hated to tear herself away from her beloved farm and little church, but it was the practical thing to do. I preached at New Virginia and ate their food just 6 times before we closed the church. The day we held the last service, we invited everyone who ever cared about the little church to come. We filled it to overflowing. We told stories, we wrote down the history, we sang hymns and honored the life of that little church who boasted being the church of the writer Willa Cather. We even had a baptism of one of the grandchildren of one of the members. We took a group picture of the last 10 members, along with me and the District Superintendent, Sam Rathod. It was a party that day, and there was more food than could be held on just 8 chairs in the back.
4 years later, I went to be the associate pastor in Aurora, Nebraska, and when I went to the senior citizen's lunch, there was Charlotte Petersen. I reminded her who I was, and her face lit up just remembering her precious little church where she left her heart, and she was glad for the connection. She had come to Aurora to live near some of her family. I hadn't known where she had moved to when she left New Virginia. And here she was.
It's been 8 years since I left Aurora and Nebraska. I went to the nursing home at Aurora a year ago after we moved back to Nebraska, when Larry told me that he met Charlotte there. She no longer remembered me, because she was starting to fail. She didn't remember a lot of things anymore, but when I mentioned New Virginia, her face brightened up as if she'd seen Jesus himself. She remembered her home church and her farm. That's one thing that even old age wouldn't let her forget. The little white church on the windy prairie, where you better hold on tight to your hat, and where you just stay home if it rained more than 2 inches if you were smart and not some dumb preacher from New Jersey.
"I knew Charlotte," I told her granddaughter Jennifer. We shared stories of the little place in the middle of nowhere called New Virgina, where there is now only a cemetary, and last I saw, the little white church was boarded up and padlocked and surrounded by tall grasses. For a moment I could smell the aroma of church potluck dishes mixed with the sweet musty smell of old wood. I could feel the wind on my face, trying to knock me over, and... people. People who loved their land, their church, their home, and who hated to say goodbye. Dear Charlotte gets to go back to the prairie, the place she loved the most, and a part of her will always be where the wind whips across the prairie, and the church bell can be heard for miles down the old dirt road.
See you later, Charlotte.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Country Music, Pick-Up Trucks and Jesus
When I moved to Nebraska the first time, in 1991, I bought a 1988 Ford Black F150 pick-truck (5 speed, stick on the floor!), a pair of cowboy boots, and I started listening to country music. My New Jersey friends were appalled. I loved that truck, to my own surprise, and it was with great heartbreak that I got rid of it after 10 good years together, in 2001, because the rear-wheel drive was incompatible with the narrow, steep, winding mountain roads of Northeast Pennsylvania where we lived then. The cowboy boots didn't last as long; one full day at the Nebraska State Fair for a Garth Brooks concert did my feet in. (Or was it wearing them for line-dance lessons when I was 6 months pregnant?-- ouch)
Though I am currently truck-less and bootless, I still listen to country music. I also listen to Public Radio (I love that Billy Joel song, "I don't know why I go to extremes!") When I was in seminary at St. Paul School of Theology in KC, my professor Tex Sample taught a January class called "White Soul." Tex also wrote a book by the same name. It was, believe it or not, a class on the history of country music, and how it is essentially the "soul music"of mostly white people, and not just rural white people. In other words, country music is often about real life, real struggles and real people. I don't like ALL country music, mind you. I'm not crazy about the heavy bear-drinking, woman-hating, flag-worshipping, sometimes violent, sometimes nasty songs. But there are many songs that speak about the real pains and joys of life. I commuted to seminary in my pick-up truck for two years from Nebraska, listening to Alan Jackson, Brooks and Dunn, Martina McBride, Garth Brooks ("I've Got Friends in Low Places" will preach!), Trisha Yearwood, Wynonna, Confederate Railroad, etc. During the 1992 presidential election, there was a lot of songs about the working man or woman just trying to be by, trying to get a job, the homeless, the regular guy on the street. There are songs about spousal abuse, child abuse, impossible bosses, trying to get by on minimum wage, raising a daughter in a world where women's bodies are used to sell everything from pop to cars to shampoo. Then there's the just plain fun ones like "Bubba Shot the Jukebox," or "Prop Me Up Against the Jukebox When I Die" and the controversial Dixie Chicks' "Goodbye Earl." Jukeboxes are big in country music, along with trucks, trains, bars, dogs and mama. Country music also pokes fun at the absurdities of life, like in Tracy Byrd's "Celebrity"about the whacked-out life of big stars who can literally get away with crimes. The music also celebrates the simple, good things of life; like fried chicken (never mind the trans fat), long conversations on the front porch, biscuits and home-cooking, and country life.
My moving to Nebraska wasn't my first exposure to country music, it was more like a return to it. My mother, Mississippi-raised, had country music playing all the time on the kitchen radio. I grew up listening to Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Little Jimmy Dickens, and company. Then upstairs on the second floor, my older brothers were playing 60s and 70s rock, so I had a diverse exposure. I learned to especially love Johnny Cash in elementary school. It was a Johnny Cash movie on the life of Jesus that simultaneously made me love Johnny AND Jesus at the same time when I was 9 years old. The day Johnny Cash die I felt an eerie grief, as íf I'd grown up with the man. In a way, I did.
Country music also has great story-songs that'll make you cry and songs about God and Jesus. No other song, I believe, captured and comforted the national heart after September 11th more than Alan Jackson's "Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?"
I guess I try to do in my preaching what I find in a lot of country music. I try to get a sense of what the regular person in the everyday world is experiencing and feeling and wondering about, and try to talk to them. I want to find out their story, their lived experience. So much TV represents so much false life, people with way more money than any of us'll ever have, doing things that none of us have the time to do even if we wanted to, and they do it all without having to reap any consequences. I like to talk about real people and bring the Good News of Jesus Christ to them. Otherwise, what is the point of any of it? I like the song by Confederate Railroad; "Jesus and Mama always loved me." Now, it doesn't get much more basic than that. Then there's Brooks and Dunn's "Believe"; "I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red..." Country music, more often than not, is about real life, real heartbreaks, real struggles, real people, and often about the very real struggle to have faith in a world that makes faith so difficult. Sounds like gospel to me.
Music is often like praying for me. Sometimes a song can say what I don't know how to put into words myself. It can lift my heart when nothing else can. It can help me grieve, too, while also reminding me of heaven. It's good stuff. I don't know, it'd be just like Jesus to hang out in the honky-tonks if he came back today. Call me crazy. Jesus always seemed to prefer the down-to-earth, tell-it-like-it-is people over the uppity ones who thought they had it all together. Jesus came that we may have life-- REAL life-- as real people. Who knows? He might even wear jeans to church if he were here.
pmr
Though I am currently truck-less and bootless, I still listen to country music. I also listen to Public Radio (I love that Billy Joel song, "I don't know why I go to extremes!") When I was in seminary at St. Paul School of Theology in KC, my professor Tex Sample taught a January class called "White Soul." Tex also wrote a book by the same name. It was, believe it or not, a class on the history of country music, and how it is essentially the "soul music"of mostly white people, and not just rural white people. In other words, country music is often about real life, real struggles and real people. I don't like ALL country music, mind you. I'm not crazy about the heavy bear-drinking, woman-hating, flag-worshipping, sometimes violent, sometimes nasty songs. But there are many songs that speak about the real pains and joys of life. I commuted to seminary in my pick-up truck for two years from Nebraska, listening to Alan Jackson, Brooks and Dunn, Martina McBride, Garth Brooks ("I've Got Friends in Low Places" will preach!), Trisha Yearwood, Wynonna, Confederate Railroad, etc. During the 1992 presidential election, there was a lot of songs about the working man or woman just trying to be by, trying to get a job, the homeless, the regular guy on the street. There are songs about spousal abuse, child abuse, impossible bosses, trying to get by on minimum wage, raising a daughter in a world where women's bodies are used to sell everything from pop to cars to shampoo. Then there's the just plain fun ones like "Bubba Shot the Jukebox," or "Prop Me Up Against the Jukebox When I Die" and the controversial Dixie Chicks' "Goodbye Earl." Jukeboxes are big in country music, along with trucks, trains, bars, dogs and mama. Country music also pokes fun at the absurdities of life, like in Tracy Byrd's "Celebrity"about the whacked-out life of big stars who can literally get away with crimes. The music also celebrates the simple, good things of life; like fried chicken (never mind the trans fat), long conversations on the front porch, biscuits and home-cooking, and country life.
My moving to Nebraska wasn't my first exposure to country music, it was more like a return to it. My mother, Mississippi-raised, had country music playing all the time on the kitchen radio. I grew up listening to Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Little Jimmy Dickens, and company. Then upstairs on the second floor, my older brothers were playing 60s and 70s rock, so I had a diverse exposure. I learned to especially love Johnny Cash in elementary school. It was a Johnny Cash movie on the life of Jesus that simultaneously made me love Johnny AND Jesus at the same time when I was 9 years old. The day Johnny Cash die I felt an eerie grief, as íf I'd grown up with the man. In a way, I did.
Country music also has great story-songs that'll make you cry and songs about God and Jesus. No other song, I believe, captured and comforted the national heart after September 11th more than Alan Jackson's "Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?"
I guess I try to do in my preaching what I find in a lot of country music. I try to get a sense of what the regular person in the everyday world is experiencing and feeling and wondering about, and try to talk to them. I want to find out their story, their lived experience. So much TV represents so much false life, people with way more money than any of us'll ever have, doing things that none of us have the time to do even if we wanted to, and they do it all without having to reap any consequences. I like to talk about real people and bring the Good News of Jesus Christ to them. Otherwise, what is the point of any of it? I like the song by Confederate Railroad; "Jesus and Mama always loved me." Now, it doesn't get much more basic than that. Then there's Brooks and Dunn's "Believe"; "I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red..." Country music, more often than not, is about real life, real heartbreaks, real struggles, real people, and often about the very real struggle to have faith in a world that makes faith so difficult. Sounds like gospel to me.
Music is often like praying for me. Sometimes a song can say what I don't know how to put into words myself. It can lift my heart when nothing else can. It can help me grieve, too, while also reminding me of heaven. It's good stuff. I don't know, it'd be just like Jesus to hang out in the honky-tonks if he came back today. Call me crazy. Jesus always seemed to prefer the down-to-earth, tell-it-like-it-is people over the uppity ones who thought they had it all together. Jesus came that we may have life-- REAL life-- as real people. Who knows? He might even wear jeans to church if he were here.
pmr
Friday, January 12, 2007
Ice, Ice, Baby
It is January 12, 2007, and I somehow missed the transition from Christmas to the New Year. Usually it seems that Christmas drags on forever, long after the needles have fallen from the tree, the lights are sagging off the roofs of the neighbor's house, and the Santas in the neighborhood yards look a little depressed that another Christmas is gone and they fade back into obscurity for another 10-11 months. But this year in Nebraska was different. On December 30th, the hard rain we had the previous day turned into an ICE STORM within hours. Saturday night I learned that most if not all of the churches in the area had cancelled services for the next morning as ice accumulated on all surfaces. The emergency siren kept going off in town, followed by fire truck sirens and ambulance whistles, indicating that some people perhaps did not heed the warnings to stay home, or that emergencies still happened that didn't listen to the forecast. Around 5 o'clock that afternoon my friend called me to tell me that their power had gone out at their farm. Our lights kept flickering, teasing us for awhile, until about 10:30 p.m. as I was getting ready to go to bed, all the lights went out. We were to be without power for 43 hours; something, I confess, I'd never experienced. The temperature in the house got down to 40 degrees by the end of Sunday. We spent New Year's Eve, huddled around the table amid all the lit candles, bundled up in all the layers of clothes that we could fit on our bodies, and our feet in snow boots. I'd love to say that I was a really creative Mom and came up with all kinds of fun activities for us to do, treating the time as an adventure. But I am a weenie. It did not turn into a fun adventure, or a "cool" camp-in, as some families later reported, as if they never whined once or got on each other's nerves or got cranky about not being able to take a shower for 3 days. I was cold. I got bored. The cats strolled through the darkness as if nothing was wrong, and didn't shiver once, and I swear they looked down their noses at us wimpy humans.
Our fun plans to be with friends and play games and gorge ourselves on New Year's Eve, was of course cancelled. Instead we heated water on the campstove on the porch, drank a lot of coffee and hot cocoa, listened to the Country Music Countdown on a battery-operated radio (hint: always know where your batteries and matches are), as even NPR was without power. Sarah Gene really wanted to stay up to midnight, but we were too cold, and so we all went to bed at 10:00 to get under as many blankets as possible and let the Country Music Countdown play till midnight. I fell asleep long before the #1 song was announced.
We were lucky. Our hot water heater is run by gas, so we had hot water. We took hot showers, as hot as we could stand it, and then QUICKLY got dressed, while marveling at the wonder of seeing our breath in the bathroom. We got our power back by Tuesday afternoon. The sound of the furnace kicking in was never such a therapeutic sound! However, our rural friends outside of town were without power through the following Saturday or Sunday. Their water is on a well system, so they ran out of water early in the week. Many people we know went to relatives' in other parts of Nebraska, others went to already crowded hotels for several days, while lots of meat spoiled in their freezers back home. In Holdredge, Nebraska, they are still without power in the whole town, depending only on generators and making a choice between having heat or doing the dishes. Word has it that they are receiving money from the United Methodist Committee on Relief and that the state of Nebraska will get disaster relief funds from the government.
It was a strange week, heading into 2007. You go to the cafe, the church, the post office, it's all people are talking about. Parts of Kearney look like a tornado hit, with all the tree branches down everywhere. The current figure for what this storm will cost NPPD is over 100 million dollars. The other day I was having lunch with some of the ladies from my church and the waittress accidentally bumped the light switch and the lights went out. Everyone in the room collectively gasped. Lights going out still produces anxiety immediately for many people.
During the power outtage in town over New Year's, we finally got in the car and drove (slowly) around town-- partly from sheer boredom, partly for the precious heat!! The whole town was dark-- it was very bizarre. You could see dim glows from houses, where there were candles burning inside. Everything was quiet and still, illuminated only by a full moon that reflected through the ice-covered trees. You could hear the branches cracking and straining under the weight. It was hauntingly beautiful; the silence, the moonlight reflected through ice, the stillness, and the groaning of the trees.
But it was good to get out again this week and see people, share our own stories, bring water to those who were still without power, let someone come in and take a hot shower, who, frankly, were beginning to stink (we didn't say so). There's something about going through something together that makes you feel like one. Of course, when it's over, you can laugh about it, as you turn on the light switch and the light actually comes ON. I haven't lit a candle since the storm, and it may be awhile. Suddenly I really like electric light. I like not seeing my breath when I get out of the shower. I like not having to decide just how badly I have to go the bathroom in the middle of the night because it's just so warm under the covers and my husband puts out some serious body heat. And I like living in a community where people know each other and can't wait till the cafe re-opens so they can swap stories about using lake water to flush their toilets and the many ways they improvised to get through the enduring darkness. I liked how we all cried out together when the lights went out in the restaurant, like we all shared a private joke.
Life goes on. The kids finally went back to school, people put on real clothes (only 1 or 2 layers now) and went back to work. The city workers are collecting the massive piles of branches out on the curbs, while NPPD is still putting up new poles all throughout Central Nebraska, replacing the thousands that had been snapped in two like toothpicks. Folks are finally draining their bathtubs, trusting that enough water will come out of the tap. I know people are turning out more lights when they're not using them, taking shorter showers, noticing more how much energy we used to waste-- and take for granted. It was good to go back to worship last Sunday after two weeks, sucking in the warmth, the light, and the good fellowship. A little bit more grateful for the basics of life, and still praying for those who still wait.
Tomorrow the forecast calls for more snow and perhaps some more ice. I can hear the collective groan for miles.... But it could be worse. We could be in Denver.
Happy New Year from the Prairie!!
Our fun plans to be with friends and play games and gorge ourselves on New Year's Eve, was of course cancelled. Instead we heated water on the campstove on the porch, drank a lot of coffee and hot cocoa, listened to the Country Music Countdown on a battery-operated radio (hint: always know where your batteries and matches are), as even NPR was without power. Sarah Gene really wanted to stay up to midnight, but we were too cold, and so we all went to bed at 10:00 to get under as many blankets as possible and let the Country Music Countdown play till midnight. I fell asleep long before the #1 song was announced.
We were lucky. Our hot water heater is run by gas, so we had hot water. We took hot showers, as hot as we could stand it, and then QUICKLY got dressed, while marveling at the wonder of seeing our breath in the bathroom. We got our power back by Tuesday afternoon. The sound of the furnace kicking in was never such a therapeutic sound! However, our rural friends outside of town were without power through the following Saturday or Sunday. Their water is on a well system, so they ran out of water early in the week. Many people we know went to relatives' in other parts of Nebraska, others went to already crowded hotels for several days, while lots of meat spoiled in their freezers back home. In Holdredge, Nebraska, they are still without power in the whole town, depending only on generators and making a choice between having heat or doing the dishes. Word has it that they are receiving money from the United Methodist Committee on Relief and that the state of Nebraska will get disaster relief funds from the government.
It was a strange week, heading into 2007. You go to the cafe, the church, the post office, it's all people are talking about. Parts of Kearney look like a tornado hit, with all the tree branches down everywhere. The current figure for what this storm will cost NPPD is over 100 million dollars. The other day I was having lunch with some of the ladies from my church and the waittress accidentally bumped the light switch and the lights went out. Everyone in the room collectively gasped. Lights going out still produces anxiety immediately for many people.
During the power outtage in town over New Year's, we finally got in the car and drove (slowly) around town-- partly from sheer boredom, partly for the precious heat!! The whole town was dark-- it was very bizarre. You could see dim glows from houses, where there were candles burning inside. Everything was quiet and still, illuminated only by a full moon that reflected through the ice-covered trees. You could hear the branches cracking and straining under the weight. It was hauntingly beautiful; the silence, the moonlight reflected through ice, the stillness, and the groaning of the trees.
But it was good to get out again this week and see people, share our own stories, bring water to those who were still without power, let someone come in and take a hot shower, who, frankly, were beginning to stink (we didn't say so). There's something about going through something together that makes you feel like one. Of course, when it's over, you can laugh about it, as you turn on the light switch and the light actually comes ON. I haven't lit a candle since the storm, and it may be awhile. Suddenly I really like electric light. I like not seeing my breath when I get out of the shower. I like not having to decide just how badly I have to go the bathroom in the middle of the night because it's just so warm under the covers and my husband puts out some serious body heat. And I like living in a community where people know each other and can't wait till the cafe re-opens so they can swap stories about using lake water to flush their toilets and the many ways they improvised to get through the enduring darkness. I liked how we all cried out together when the lights went out in the restaurant, like we all shared a private joke.
Life goes on. The kids finally went back to school, people put on real clothes (only 1 or 2 layers now) and went back to work. The city workers are collecting the massive piles of branches out on the curbs, while NPPD is still putting up new poles all throughout Central Nebraska, replacing the thousands that had been snapped in two like toothpicks. Folks are finally draining their bathtubs, trusting that enough water will come out of the tap. I know people are turning out more lights when they're not using them, taking shorter showers, noticing more how much energy we used to waste-- and take for granted. It was good to go back to worship last Sunday after two weeks, sucking in the warmth, the light, and the good fellowship. A little bit more grateful for the basics of life, and still praying for those who still wait.
Tomorrow the forecast calls for more snow and perhaps some more ice. I can hear the collective groan for miles.... But it could be worse. We could be in Denver.
Happy New Year from the Prairie!!
Saturday, December 2, 2006
The End Is Our Beginning
“KEEPING OUR EYES OPEN”
Text: Luke 21:25-36
Preached at Faith United (Methodist) Church
December 2, 2006
And so it begins…
For the rest of the world,
it began the day after Thanksgiving,
or even before that-- it gets earlier every year
But for the followers of Christ,
it all begins today, with the lighting of a candle
It’s the first day of the new year in the Christian calendar
the beginning of Advent
in the dictionary, the word advent means
“a coming” or “arrival”
In the Christian church, during Advent
we await the coming of Jesus Christ
we prepare, we anticipate, we look FORWARD
But what a lot of people don’t know
is that we’re not just looking for the coming of Christ
as a baby… he’s already done that
we are actually living between two advents
The advent of his birth, his incarnation into the world
and the advent of his second coming
WHOA!! Hold on…
Second Coming? We believe in that stuff??
The subject of the Second Coming
just throws up all kinds of red flags
we’ve heard enough from the doomsdayers
the novelists, the movie makers
about the end of the world
How Jesus is coming back, and boy is he ticked!
I read the first book of the Left Behind series
that are novels, and I stress the word “NOVELS”
about the end times
I couldn’t get past the first book
it was too disturbing –
and I knew too many people at the time
who forgot it was just a novel
It’s hard for us to imagine Jesus coming again
it’s hard enough to imagine him coming the first time
the way he did
The Second Coming conjures up images
of movies rated R for excessive violence
But Jesus did say that he was coming back
and ever since people have tried to say
they know exactly how it will happen
and they use it to scare the stuff out of people
Jesus tells the disciples that the world will change
that the things they see as indestructible
can be destroyed
He tells them about the destruction of Jerusalem
which happens about 40 years after his death
where the temple is completely leveled
the whole city is in ruins
the Great City of Jerusalem, a city that they believed
could not be taken down
and when Luke is writing this Gospel
it has already happened
the city was destroyed, the temple completely gone
just an empty cavity where the great building once stood
The destruction of the temple is just one of many signs
that the world will not always be the way it is
Things are not the way God intended them to be
and there will come a time, Jesus promised
that the Kingdom will come in all its fullness
and everything will be different
everything as we know it will be changed
When Jesus left his disciples,
he gave them the impression
that he would be right back
that he would be coming again SOON
and so they didn’t make long-term plans
When St. Paul writes his letters,
he writes about Jesus coming again
as if it’s right around the corner
Jesus said, keep your eyes open, be ready
be alert, I’ll be back
Well, as the preacher Will Willimon writes,
it’s hard to stand on your tiptoes for 2,000 years
your feet get a little sore
Do we believe anymore that he’s coming back?
It’s been forever…
All these things have been happening
the nations are rising against nations,
the seas roar and come on land to destroy
There are many Ground Zeros all over the world
where people are fainting from fear
It’s all been happening since the beginning
When Jesus came the first time,
he was born into a time of terror
The Jews were living in lands occupied by Rome
there was excessive violence and fear
Male babies were randomly slaughtered
when Jesus was just a baby himself
there was terror and heartache everywhere
Jesus came quietly into the world in the midst of mayhem
chaos and oppression
So what does all this have to do with us?
It’s been 2,000 years and still we wait
and live between the first and second advent
and we do get weighed down by the worries of this world
We get weighed down by medical bills,
by impossible schedules,
pressures at work, pressures at school,
trying to raise our children to love God
and be good people that love others
in a world so bent on hate and excitement
The most meaningful Advent I remember
is the end of 1993
when I was pregnant
Something about being pregnant during Advent
and Christmas made it all uniquely meaningful to me
It was about December of 1993
that I felt the stirrings of new life within me
when I first felt the movements
It was my first year of ministry out of seminary
and it was a particularly difficult year
in a lot of ways
I was very discouraged
but at the same time, I had new life growing within me
and the stirrings inside reminded me of hope
Twice I went to the hospital with symptoms
that caused the doctor to think I was miscarrying
twice I was faced with the possibility of death
when there was supposed to be birth
I understood just a little more that year
about hoping against hope
about believing, trusting the stirrings within
the very subtle—at that point!—stirrings
reminding me to keep believing
in the midst of a lot of chaos
and our share of fears
I think Advent and Christmas is radical
We’ve toned it down a lot over the years
we’ve domesticated it
we’ve reduced it to a lovely, peaceful scene
on the front of holiday cards
but Jesus coming into the world the first time
was an incredibly radical thing
it scared the bejeebies out of King Herod
the very thought of a baby being born
who could be king instead of him
And Jesus grew up, challenged the way things were and are
and shook up the church
made people want to kill him
in order to save the Church
He stirred things up,
he stirred up the poor people, the have-nots
the people that the Romans were successfully keeping in order
the common people
whom the temple leaders could ignore
he gave power and hope to those who had none
he turned everything upside down
and before he left this earth,
he said, “I’ll be back.”
Sometimes we make him out to be like The Terminator
someone with a bad temper who will wipe out all the bad guys
But Jesus promised things will not always be the way they are
that his life, his first coming
has begun the whole redemption process
the whole transformation of the world
we live in the now and the not yet
we live in the Promise,
and yet we anticipate the promise of his coming again
of the Kingdom of God coming in fullness
‘thy kingdom come,’ we pray, ‘thy will be done…”
that is our Advent prayer, year after year after year
Jesus may not come back in our lifetime
because he hasn’t come back in many lifetimes
but still as Christians we light the candle in the dark
it’s a first step to say, ‘I believe… in the unbelievable’
I believe Jesus keeps his promises
We’re not standing on tiptoe anymore,
waiting for him to return,
but we are still called to keep an eye out for him
we glimpse him here and there along the way
in a moment in worship
in a stranger’s face who stops by for something to eat
who may not smell all the good
we glimpse him in the children’s faces
in their joy and abandonment
even as they run around the aisles
we glimpse him in each other
when love connects us, when peace overcomes us
when for a moment we have hope again
in something better coming
we glimpse again as we light the candles of Advent
that move us closer still to that unimaginable day
when hope comes to fulfillment
Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned for 27 years
and who emerged to become the president of South Africa
said:
“I have found that one can bear the unbearable
if one can keep spirits strong enough even when the body is being tested.
Strong convictions are the secret of surviving depravation
your spirit can be full even when your stomach is empty
I always knew that someday I would once again
feel the grass under my feet and walk in the sunshine
as a free man
I am fundamentally an optimist
part of being an optimist is keeping one’s head pointed toward the sun
and one’s feet moving forward…”
Advent is about turning our eyes back toward the sun
looking up, when so much around us, forces our heads down
Advent is about beginning again
lighting another candle in the dark and saying “I believe…”
“we believe…” because it’s easier to believe in community with others
Advent, the most hopeful season of the Christian calendar,
begins in darkness
and moves toward the Light that dawns in the world
Advent is about preparing our hearts to love
preparing our eyes to see more clearly
someone said it’s like spiritual cataract surgery
we do what we can, and allow God to clear our vision
to take away those things that keep us from seeing clearly
the signs of hope all around us
The cataracts can build up with all the bad news
all the cynicism of the media
all the pressures to buy and consume
all the pressure to believe that the more we have
the happier we’ll be
Advent is a kind of spiritual cleansing time
starting right where we are
and starting all over again, if we have to
in the simple act of lighting a candle in the dark
Christmas is not all sweet and pretty
it’s the beginning of the radical transformation of the world
in the coming of Jesus Christ
who is still at work, and is far from finished
we don’t know when he’ll be back
but we don’t need to know, if we did, he would have told us
what we’re called to do is simply live with our eyes to the horizon
anticipating the inbreaking of God’s kingdom
and we are to live as if that Kingdom is already here
to keep our eyes open to the presence of the living Christ
who shows himself here and there
in the smallest of miracles
and in the glory of all creation
We are to live with our eyes looking forward
and all around, for the dawning redemption of God’s world
and to be active participants in that redemption
to be a people of radical hope in a world that is all too often dark
and R-rated
It is Advent
It is the start of something new
a new year, full of new possibilities
some things beyond our control
but if we keep our eyes open
we may witness the birth of beautiful things
that can only come from the glory of God…
Light a candle at home,
pray against the dark
make your statement
that you will live as Children of the Light
and that no one can put that light out….
Text: Luke 21:25-36
Preached at Faith United (Methodist) Church
December 2, 2006
And so it begins…
For the rest of the world,
it began the day after Thanksgiving,
or even before that-- it gets earlier every year
But for the followers of Christ,
it all begins today, with the lighting of a candle
It’s the first day of the new year in the Christian calendar
the beginning of Advent
in the dictionary, the word advent means
“a coming” or “arrival”
In the Christian church, during Advent
we await the coming of Jesus Christ
we prepare, we anticipate, we look FORWARD
But what a lot of people don’t know
is that we’re not just looking for the coming of Christ
as a baby… he’s already done that
we are actually living between two advents
The advent of his birth, his incarnation into the world
and the advent of his second coming
WHOA!! Hold on…
Second Coming? We believe in that stuff??
The subject of the Second Coming
just throws up all kinds of red flags
we’ve heard enough from the doomsdayers
the novelists, the movie makers
about the end of the world
How Jesus is coming back, and boy is he ticked!
I read the first book of the Left Behind series
that are novels, and I stress the word “NOVELS”
about the end times
I couldn’t get past the first book
it was too disturbing –
and I knew too many people at the time
who forgot it was just a novel
It’s hard for us to imagine Jesus coming again
it’s hard enough to imagine him coming the first time
the way he did
The Second Coming conjures up images
of movies rated R for excessive violence
But Jesus did say that he was coming back
and ever since people have tried to say
they know exactly how it will happen
and they use it to scare the stuff out of people
Jesus tells the disciples that the world will change
that the things they see as indestructible
can be destroyed
He tells them about the destruction of Jerusalem
which happens about 40 years after his death
where the temple is completely leveled
the whole city is in ruins
the Great City of Jerusalem, a city that they believed
could not be taken down
and when Luke is writing this Gospel
it has already happened
the city was destroyed, the temple completely gone
just an empty cavity where the great building once stood
The destruction of the temple is just one of many signs
that the world will not always be the way it is
Things are not the way God intended them to be
and there will come a time, Jesus promised
that the Kingdom will come in all its fullness
and everything will be different
everything as we know it will be changed
When Jesus left his disciples,
he gave them the impression
that he would be right back
that he would be coming again SOON
and so they didn’t make long-term plans
When St. Paul writes his letters,
he writes about Jesus coming again
as if it’s right around the corner
Jesus said, keep your eyes open, be ready
be alert, I’ll be back
Well, as the preacher Will Willimon writes,
it’s hard to stand on your tiptoes for 2,000 years
your feet get a little sore
Do we believe anymore that he’s coming back?
It’s been forever…
All these things have been happening
the nations are rising against nations,
the seas roar and come on land to destroy
There are many Ground Zeros all over the world
where people are fainting from fear
It’s all been happening since the beginning
When Jesus came the first time,
he was born into a time of terror
The Jews were living in lands occupied by Rome
there was excessive violence and fear
Male babies were randomly slaughtered
when Jesus was just a baby himself
there was terror and heartache everywhere
Jesus came quietly into the world in the midst of mayhem
chaos and oppression
So what does all this have to do with us?
It’s been 2,000 years and still we wait
and live between the first and second advent
and we do get weighed down by the worries of this world
We get weighed down by medical bills,
by impossible schedules,
pressures at work, pressures at school,
trying to raise our children to love God
and be good people that love others
in a world so bent on hate and excitement
The most meaningful Advent I remember
is the end of 1993
when I was pregnant
Something about being pregnant during Advent
and Christmas made it all uniquely meaningful to me
It was about December of 1993
that I felt the stirrings of new life within me
when I first felt the movements
It was my first year of ministry out of seminary
and it was a particularly difficult year
in a lot of ways
I was very discouraged
but at the same time, I had new life growing within me
and the stirrings inside reminded me of hope
Twice I went to the hospital with symptoms
that caused the doctor to think I was miscarrying
twice I was faced with the possibility of death
when there was supposed to be birth
I understood just a little more that year
about hoping against hope
about believing, trusting the stirrings within
the very subtle—at that point!—stirrings
reminding me to keep believing
in the midst of a lot of chaos
and our share of fears
I think Advent and Christmas is radical
We’ve toned it down a lot over the years
we’ve domesticated it
we’ve reduced it to a lovely, peaceful scene
on the front of holiday cards
but Jesus coming into the world the first time
was an incredibly radical thing
it scared the bejeebies out of King Herod
the very thought of a baby being born
who could be king instead of him
And Jesus grew up, challenged the way things were and are
and shook up the church
made people want to kill him
in order to save the Church
He stirred things up,
he stirred up the poor people, the have-nots
the people that the Romans were successfully keeping in order
the common people
whom the temple leaders could ignore
he gave power and hope to those who had none
he turned everything upside down
and before he left this earth,
he said, “I’ll be back.”
Sometimes we make him out to be like The Terminator
someone with a bad temper who will wipe out all the bad guys
But Jesus promised things will not always be the way they are
that his life, his first coming
has begun the whole redemption process
the whole transformation of the world
we live in the now and the not yet
we live in the Promise,
and yet we anticipate the promise of his coming again
of the Kingdom of God coming in fullness
‘thy kingdom come,’ we pray, ‘thy will be done…”
that is our Advent prayer, year after year after year
Jesus may not come back in our lifetime
because he hasn’t come back in many lifetimes
but still as Christians we light the candle in the dark
it’s a first step to say, ‘I believe… in the unbelievable’
I believe Jesus keeps his promises
We’re not standing on tiptoe anymore,
waiting for him to return,
but we are still called to keep an eye out for him
we glimpse him here and there along the way
in a moment in worship
in a stranger’s face who stops by for something to eat
who may not smell all the good
we glimpse him in the children’s faces
in their joy and abandonment
even as they run around the aisles
we glimpse him in each other
when love connects us, when peace overcomes us
when for a moment we have hope again
in something better coming
we glimpse again as we light the candles of Advent
that move us closer still to that unimaginable day
when hope comes to fulfillment
Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned for 27 years
and who emerged to become the president of South Africa
said:
“I have found that one can bear the unbearable
if one can keep spirits strong enough even when the body is being tested.
Strong convictions are the secret of surviving depravation
your spirit can be full even when your stomach is empty
I always knew that someday I would once again
feel the grass under my feet and walk in the sunshine
as a free man
I am fundamentally an optimist
part of being an optimist is keeping one’s head pointed toward the sun
and one’s feet moving forward…”
Advent is about turning our eyes back toward the sun
looking up, when so much around us, forces our heads down
Advent is about beginning again
lighting another candle in the dark and saying “I believe…”
“we believe…” because it’s easier to believe in community with others
Advent, the most hopeful season of the Christian calendar,
begins in darkness
and moves toward the Light that dawns in the world
Advent is about preparing our hearts to love
preparing our eyes to see more clearly
someone said it’s like spiritual cataract surgery
we do what we can, and allow God to clear our vision
to take away those things that keep us from seeing clearly
the signs of hope all around us
The cataracts can build up with all the bad news
all the cynicism of the media
all the pressures to buy and consume
all the pressure to believe that the more we have
the happier we’ll be
Advent is a kind of spiritual cleansing time
starting right where we are
and starting all over again, if we have to
in the simple act of lighting a candle in the dark
Christmas is not all sweet and pretty
it’s the beginning of the radical transformation of the world
in the coming of Jesus Christ
who is still at work, and is far from finished
we don’t know when he’ll be back
but we don’t need to know, if we did, he would have told us
what we’re called to do is simply live with our eyes to the horizon
anticipating the inbreaking of God’s kingdom
and we are to live as if that Kingdom is already here
to keep our eyes open to the presence of the living Christ
who shows himself here and there
in the smallest of miracles
and in the glory of all creation
We are to live with our eyes looking forward
and all around, for the dawning redemption of God’s world
and to be active participants in that redemption
to be a people of radical hope in a world that is all too often dark
and R-rated
It is Advent
It is the start of something new
a new year, full of new possibilities
some things beyond our control
but if we keep our eyes open
we may witness the birth of beautiful things
that can only come from the glory of God…
Light a candle at home,
pray against the dark
make your statement
that you will live as Children of the Light
and that no one can put that light out….
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thoughts From a Small Town
Thoughts From a Small Town
People are astounded often that I, born and raised in southern New Jersey, am not culturally challenged or just plain intellectually offended by living in a small town in rural Nebraska. I find this amusing. Some people are cultural snobs-- others, just don't know what they have right under their nose.
I live in Gibbon, a town of about 1800 people, depending on who all you count. I've only lived here for 17 months, so some may say that I've yet to have my eyes opened. Gibbon, as you know, (and I confess I didn't until recently) is a kind of monkey. I don't know exactly why people feel the need to tell me this, but the town is actually named after a general from the Civil War. Don't test me on that history, however, I am still learning.
Someone from New Jersey-- other than me-- who is used to six lane highways and getting the finger daily on the turnpike, may not understand the appeal of a sleepy little town where everyone knows your name and your business if you've been there any length of time. I am in love. I confess! I've fallen in love with Gibbon.
If I go to the post office at 9 a.m. every morning, I know who I will see. There's Lee, a volunteer fireman who's married to the owner of the local cafe. There's Bill, who goes to the cafe every morning for the latest gossip and unique fellowship, but his internal clock demands that he leave at precisely 9 a.m. on the dot to get the mail and return home. There is the trio of employees of the local bank, the best dressed people in town-- women with meticulously applied make-up and very fashionable clothes that I would only wear if I was going to a fancy restaurant. I like that about Gibbon-- I can be a pastor and wear blue jeans every day, even to the hospital, and no one blinks. But I digress.
The cafe crowd is unique, and changes, depending on what hour you go. Farmers get there pretty early-- around 6 a.m., which I consider nighttime still-- to gather with their buddies for coffee. They usually get their own coffee, and as the morning wears on, they get up and refill everyone else's cup, even if they don't know you. The men gather in the middle, that seems to be their territory, and all others find a place on the outskirts. You don't go to that middle table uninvited, and its not for the faint of heart. Men in cowboy boots and seed corn hats gather and offer their opinions on the latest happenings of the day in town or across the country. Rumors are started at the cafe, and gather momentum when they're carried down to the Pit Stop-- the other coffee-gathering, and the alternate meeting place on Saturdays and Sundays when the cafe is closed.
Nebraska is known for his blustery winters, with bitter winds and blowing snow that lands wherever the wind loses momentum. During one blizzard that shut down everything, Larry and Sarah and I bundled up and ventured out on foot to see if the cafe was open. It was. Farmers who'd driven there at 6 a.m. were still stranded there at 12:30 p.m. And yet they thought WE were nuts for being there! But finally, they ventured out, seeing as though they didn't bring anything to stay overnight, and we were the only ones there except Bob. The owner of the cafe shoved a mop at mop and told him if he was going to stay he might as well help mop up the melting snow all over the floor that the others left behind. Other times, I've seen a farmer discover that he left his wallet at home, when it came time to pay for his lunch. No problem. He just waved at the owner and said, "just put it on my tab." She knew he'd be back, it was ok. Everyone knows where he lives, after all.
I love going to the local library in town-- they have a better selection of DVDs than the big library 13 miles west. Also I like to go, because the librarians are Methodists. It's a social call whenever I go. We discuss the weather, the puzzle one of them is working on, she gives me her opinion of the movies I check out, and she always asks me how I'm doing.
Sometimes I stop at Foster's grocery store for a drink before I head to the office. Usually when I go, the Baptist lady is working the register, but community is ecumenical, so it's important I speak to the Baptists, too, and try to remember their names. At least a third of Gibbon is Hispanic, because of the Turkey Plant and Beef Plant in town. I love that the little grocery store has a whole selection of Mexican foods and candies that I've never heard of. Or that some of the posters in the window are in Spanish. My daughter goes to the local school, of course, that is K-12 (which boggles the minds of my New Jersey friends), and every communication that comes home is in both English and Spanish. Sarah tried out for the Latin Choir at school, but was disappointed that she had to know Spanish in order to participate.
Our neighbors to the north and west of us are Hispanic. I'm not sure who all lives in those two houses, but the yards are teeming with little Hispanic children in warmer weather, and Spanish music usually blares from the windows of the houses. Little diapered hispanic kids waddle by on our front side walk, others ride past on their scooters and skateboards. I even hear Spanish rap music, which is less offensive than the English version, I guess, because I don't know what they're saying!
Last night I was at a Senior Citizen's dinner (by virtue of my occupation, not my age!) and overheard little old ladies discussing the Husker's and how well they're playing this year. They almost turned off the game last Saturday because we were behind, but they stayed to the end, for the miraculous finish. They offered their opinions of our chances of winning the Division game this year. Football is an intergenerational experience here in Nebraska. It's another religion. People don't plan weddings at game time if they want anyone to show up, and if you go out on game day, the majority of people you see will be wearing red. The game is always playing over the system at the mall, in restaurants, on the department store TVs-- otherwise nobody would ever go out on a Saturday!
I love Nebraska. I love the way the sky meets the land with no interruptions, and kind of embraces you as you travel. As my Dad said on his first visit, "the sky surrounds you!" I miss the corn during this post-harvest season, the fields are barren, except for the cattle who are given the job of eating what they can that's left over.
You have to be patient to live in Nebraska. You don't get anywhere fast, because everything is spread out. There are big pauses between towns, where you can get to feeling disoriented, because you are kind of literally nowhere for a time. My father was always concerned about breaking down or running out of gas; what happens to you then? But it's not a problem. If such a thing were to happen, someone would pick you up and take you to town. Of course, by afternoon, the whole town would know that you ran out of gas or broke down, but that's a small price to pay for living in a world where no one is really anonymous.
Everybody knows your business in a little town, this is true. And if you weren't born and raised here, if you just married in or moved in within the last quarter century, you're never really an insider, but if you're not too obnoxious, they'll let you stay. Everyone knows your sins, even if they're long redeemed, but they know they have their own stories that everyone knows, too, so you're ok. The thing is, if your world falls apart, you're not alone. If you land in the hospital with astronomical bills, someone is liable to throw you a benefit pancake feed or chili feed (everything is a "feed" out here, which brings to mind a big trough full of whatever the menu is!) to contribute to your need. People will show up at your door with casseroles and full meals. Food is a very popular solution to any kind of hardship, here in Small Town. Even the grumpiest old man will refill your coffee down at the cafe. It's just what you do.
There's really no place I'd rather be, thankyouverymuch.
People are astounded often that I, born and raised in southern New Jersey, am not culturally challenged or just plain intellectually offended by living in a small town in rural Nebraska. I find this amusing. Some people are cultural snobs-- others, just don't know what they have right under their nose.
I live in Gibbon, a town of about 1800 people, depending on who all you count. I've only lived here for 17 months, so some may say that I've yet to have my eyes opened. Gibbon, as you know, (and I confess I didn't until recently) is a kind of monkey. I don't know exactly why people feel the need to tell me this, but the town is actually named after a general from the Civil War. Don't test me on that history, however, I am still learning.
Someone from New Jersey-- other than me-- who is used to six lane highways and getting the finger daily on the turnpike, may not understand the appeal of a sleepy little town where everyone knows your name and your business if you've been there any length of time. I am in love. I confess! I've fallen in love with Gibbon.
If I go to the post office at 9 a.m. every morning, I know who I will see. There's Lee, a volunteer fireman who's married to the owner of the local cafe. There's Bill, who goes to the cafe every morning for the latest gossip and unique fellowship, but his internal clock demands that he leave at precisely 9 a.m. on the dot to get the mail and return home. There is the trio of employees of the local bank, the best dressed people in town-- women with meticulously applied make-up and very fashionable clothes that I would only wear if I was going to a fancy restaurant. I like that about Gibbon-- I can be a pastor and wear blue jeans every day, even to the hospital, and no one blinks. But I digress.
The cafe crowd is unique, and changes, depending on what hour you go. Farmers get there pretty early-- around 6 a.m., which I consider nighttime still-- to gather with their buddies for coffee. They usually get their own coffee, and as the morning wears on, they get up and refill everyone else's cup, even if they don't know you. The men gather in the middle, that seems to be their territory, and all others find a place on the outskirts. You don't go to that middle table uninvited, and its not for the faint of heart. Men in cowboy boots and seed corn hats gather and offer their opinions on the latest happenings of the day in town or across the country. Rumors are started at the cafe, and gather momentum when they're carried down to the Pit Stop-- the other coffee-gathering, and the alternate meeting place on Saturdays and Sundays when the cafe is closed.
Nebraska is known for his blustery winters, with bitter winds and blowing snow that lands wherever the wind loses momentum. During one blizzard that shut down everything, Larry and Sarah and I bundled up and ventured out on foot to see if the cafe was open. It was. Farmers who'd driven there at 6 a.m. were still stranded there at 12:30 p.m. And yet they thought WE were nuts for being there! But finally, they ventured out, seeing as though they didn't bring anything to stay overnight, and we were the only ones there except Bob. The owner of the cafe shoved a mop at mop and told him if he was going to stay he might as well help mop up the melting snow all over the floor that the others left behind. Other times, I've seen a farmer discover that he left his wallet at home, when it came time to pay for his lunch. No problem. He just waved at the owner and said, "just put it on my tab." She knew he'd be back, it was ok. Everyone knows where he lives, after all.
I love going to the local library in town-- they have a better selection of DVDs than the big library 13 miles west. Also I like to go, because the librarians are Methodists. It's a social call whenever I go. We discuss the weather, the puzzle one of them is working on, she gives me her opinion of the movies I check out, and she always asks me how I'm doing.
Sometimes I stop at Foster's grocery store for a drink before I head to the office. Usually when I go, the Baptist lady is working the register, but community is ecumenical, so it's important I speak to the Baptists, too, and try to remember their names. At least a third of Gibbon is Hispanic, because of the Turkey Plant and Beef Plant in town. I love that the little grocery store has a whole selection of Mexican foods and candies that I've never heard of. Or that some of the posters in the window are in Spanish. My daughter goes to the local school, of course, that is K-12 (which boggles the minds of my New Jersey friends), and every communication that comes home is in both English and Spanish. Sarah tried out for the Latin Choir at school, but was disappointed that she had to know Spanish in order to participate.
Our neighbors to the north and west of us are Hispanic. I'm not sure who all lives in those two houses, but the yards are teeming with little Hispanic children in warmer weather, and Spanish music usually blares from the windows of the houses. Little diapered hispanic kids waddle by on our front side walk, others ride past on their scooters and skateboards. I even hear Spanish rap music, which is less offensive than the English version, I guess, because I don't know what they're saying!
Last night I was at a Senior Citizen's dinner (by virtue of my occupation, not my age!) and overheard little old ladies discussing the Husker's and how well they're playing this year. They almost turned off the game last Saturday because we were behind, but they stayed to the end, for the miraculous finish. They offered their opinions of our chances of winning the Division game this year. Football is an intergenerational experience here in Nebraska. It's another religion. People don't plan weddings at game time if they want anyone to show up, and if you go out on game day, the majority of people you see will be wearing red. The game is always playing over the system at the mall, in restaurants, on the department store TVs-- otherwise nobody would ever go out on a Saturday!
I love Nebraska. I love the way the sky meets the land with no interruptions, and kind of embraces you as you travel. As my Dad said on his first visit, "the sky surrounds you!" I miss the corn during this post-harvest season, the fields are barren, except for the cattle who are given the job of eating what they can that's left over.
You have to be patient to live in Nebraska. You don't get anywhere fast, because everything is spread out. There are big pauses between towns, where you can get to feeling disoriented, because you are kind of literally nowhere for a time. My father was always concerned about breaking down or running out of gas; what happens to you then? But it's not a problem. If such a thing were to happen, someone would pick you up and take you to town. Of course, by afternoon, the whole town would know that you ran out of gas or broke down, but that's a small price to pay for living in a world where no one is really anonymous.
Everybody knows your business in a little town, this is true. And if you weren't born and raised here, if you just married in or moved in within the last quarter century, you're never really an insider, but if you're not too obnoxious, they'll let you stay. Everyone knows your sins, even if they're long redeemed, but they know they have their own stories that everyone knows, too, so you're ok. The thing is, if your world falls apart, you're not alone. If you land in the hospital with astronomical bills, someone is liable to throw you a benefit pancake feed or chili feed (everything is a "feed" out here, which brings to mind a big trough full of whatever the menu is!) to contribute to your need. People will show up at your door with casseroles and full meals. Food is a very popular solution to any kind of hardship, here in Small Town. Even the grumpiest old man will refill your coffee down at the cafe. It's just what you do.
There's really no place I'd rather be, thankyouverymuch.
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