Techno Man...

Yea…that’s me. I’ve got a brand new machine. It’s tiny. It’s my datebook. It’s my phone. It’s my music player. It’s a camera. It gets email and surfs the internet. It’s a complete little computer with more memory than we had on our first two desk-top computers combined. And I can carry it in my pocket. Not to mention: I’ve got a laptop computer full of bells and whistles connected to the world via a high-speed LAN. I’ve got a 250 Gb portable hard drive that’s not much bigger than the old paper datebook I used to carry. I actually know how to use most of this stuff. I’m thinking about getting tights and a cape.

Until it breaks. Until the network goes down. Until the blue screen of death appears…right before your hard drive (in its death throes) eats all your files.

These are wonderful tools. They are wonderful toys. But that is all they are. Real back-up can’t be bought at Best Buy. The real software of life can’t be downloaded from Microsoft. Real power can’t be crammed into a machine in your pocket…and it doesn’t cost $300 or come with a two-year contract.

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Jesus the Christ. Jesus the gift. Jesus the bread and the wine, the water and the Word, the hope and the joy and the power for our lives.

But you know this already. So do I. It’s just hard to live…and good to be reminded.

No room to grow?

We spent much of the weekend in the flowerbeds…that once-a-year chore of cleaning up the sticks and leaves, topping the daffodils and tulips, pulling the year’s first weeds, planting our “annuals,” trimming and mulching. Hard work (our bodies remind us!) but satisfying. There's a real sense of accomplishment when it's done.

This year the job was a bit bigger than usual. Eight bushes along the front had to go. They were likely planted too close together more than a dozen years ago (when they were new and small). And even with regular trimming since then, they’d simply gotten out of hand…to the point where they were crowding each other and the sidewalk. It was ugly.

But not now. Those eight bushes were replaced with just four. Some new breathing space was opened for the remaining plants and the added color of more flowers. It really looks nice…better, I think, than I had imagined it would.

So…is there any room to grow in your life? Or are things so out of hand that all the color has been crowded out? I realize this isn’t an issue for everyone. But more and more of the folks I talk too seem absolutely harassed by their own calendars…by schedules often of their own making. Sure, there’s work. Add in that the kids (and/or grandkids) are in baseball, gymnastics, soccer, 4-H and go-kart racing...all at the same time. Plus, you’ve got to take care of the house and the cars and whatever additional stuff has accumulated over the years. And it sure would be nice to take some time this weekend for stuff you like to do...to go to the races, and the concert and the zoo.

“Pastor, I just can’t keep up. We’d love to be more involved, but there just aren’t enough hours in a day.”

Or maybe it’s time to pull a few bushes…to open up some space for healthy growth and real color.

First vocation...

Do you remember your first real job? It probably didn't pay well, was an imposition on your social schedule, and generally beneath the level of both your skills and your dignity (something abundantly obvious to everyone but your boss). For me: it was the local Sohio station...a pump jockey...back before there was an oil crisis...all this raw talent for about a buck an hour.

But how about your first vocation? Do you remember that? This is a trickier question because we tend to get these two terms confused. Our jobs are not necessarily our vocations...although hopefully the jobs we do give us occasion to live out our vocation...our calling. Our jobs have to do with what we do. Our vocation has, in a deeper sense, to do with who we are...who God has called us to be.

I find myself drawn again and again to the creation stories in Genesis 1 and 2. Here we meet a loving, powerful and purposeful God who stoops to shape a companion creature after the divine image. This creature will name things...will co-create things...will manage on God's behalf all that has been made...and will praise God for such abundance. This, it seems, is our first vocation. To borrow a phrase from Aidan Kavanaugh: we are homo adorans. More than homo sapiens...the thinking man...we are the "praising man"...called to be priests in the temple that is the universe for the purpose of the praise of God's greatness.

We Lutherans like to talk about "the priesthood of all believers"...a notion that links our shared work as Christians into our common baptism into Christ. But we haven't often been so clear as to what that shared work looks like. Let me suggest this: we are called to live the liturgy of life...gathering, orchestrating and offering the continual sacrifice of thanksgiving which rises from the earth and her creatures to the God from whom all things flow.

So...what does that liturgy look like in your daily routine? As you go about your job (or your school work or your play or your retirement), how is your vocation as priest in God's house evident?

I'm pretty sure I never asked that question of myself back when I was pumping gas and wiping windshields. Vocation (if I even knew what the word meant) was something for preachers and other religious types. Turns out, however, we're all religious types. It's built into us by the very nature of our creation...by the very nature of our Creator.

Desperate to get in...

Story #1:

Remember a few weeks ago when I was complaining about the squirrels in the attic? Turns out those weren’t squirrels; it was (and still is) a raccoon. To complicate the issue, we think it’s a Momma raccoon who had her babies yesterday afternoon…on Mother’s Day. Isn’t that just sweet?

Maybe or maybe not. We can debate the merits of animals…birthing animals…in your attic. But that’s not really the point.

This past Friday evening, we held a stake-out party…also billed as a raccoon exorcism. With the vent cover off the attic, we gathered across the parking lot in our lawn chairs, armed with our mini-keg, our cheese and crackers and our binoculars in order to watch for the raccoon to leave the attic on its nightly foray. Our patience was rewarded; the beasty climbed out the opening, up the chimney, across the roof and scooted down the TV antenna and out into the woods. A few of us scrambled up onto the adjacent roof and quickly covered the opening with a nice heavy metal cover. Then we rejoiced at having (finally) gotten the animal out. Yippee!

Early Sunday morning, about 1:30am…in the night before she was to apparently give birth…our masked friend returned. Upon finding access to her nest covered by metal, she starting tearing into things…including a couple of bedroom screens. (Good thing we had the windows closed!) I could hardly believe the ferocity of this little animal…so desperate was she to get back in. And wouldn’t you know: she succeeded. She tore a whole in the metal cover, ripping it away from the metal frame into which it had been securely screwed and left it hanging there in shreds and pieces.

Story #2:

Some folks recently let me know that they hadn’t been able to come to church for a few weeks because one Sunday they drove into the parking lot and couldn’t find a space. So they went home.

Follow-up Question:

What does the raccoon understand that we human beings don’t? Are there places worth fighting your way in to? What are we willing to give/spend/invest of ourselves in order to come into that most desirable of all human “nests”…the presence of the gracious and living God?

I’ll let you answer those for yourself. In the meantime: if you show up here and the lot is full, go ahead and park on the grass.

Help wanted...

This is a two-part posting.

Part One...a big thank you. Jen Pollard (along with husband Josh) has been our youth ministry coordinator for the past two-plus years. They have done wonderful work here...earning the love and trust of our young people, opening up some important conversations about faith and life, and energizing our ministry with and for the youth of this congregation as well as their friends. Thank you...no matter how big...doesn't cut it. "Thanks be to God" gets closer, but even that feels inadequate.

Jen and Josh, however, have new responsibilities. As they welcome Eden Suzanne into the world as their first child, the demands of parenthood must take precedence. We pray God's blessings upon all three of them as newly formed family, and are confident that they will continue to grow in love for God and each other.

Part Two...help wanted. Grace is now in need of a youth ministry coordinator. We've put out some feelers to folks in the community and via some neighboring universities who might have qualified folks heading towards our neck of the woods. But so far, no one has surfaced as a candidate. So, loyal readers, we turn to you for input and assistance. If you or someone you know might be right for this calling, give PD a call or email. And it is, by the way, a calling...not just a part-time job. Loving these young people means first being in loving relationship with God. Guiding and encouraging them requires someone who is likewise being guided and encouraged by God's own Spirit.

In the meantime, we're praying...confidently...that God will send us the person right for this place and our young people. We ask you to join in that prayer with us. Thanks!

Bridging the gap...

I worry sometimes about the distance between what we say is important and what we really believe is important as evidenced by our actions. For example:

There's not a person among us who doesn't want a better, safer, more just, equitable and peaceful world. Well...OK. Maybe there are a few really sick, twisted folks among us who don't want those things. But by and large, the desire for the world to be a better place isn't merely the aspiration of Miss America contestants. All of us want that.

As Christians, we confess that there is a way in which the world can be better. Not perfect, mind you. That won't happen until Christ himself returns to reign. But better nonetheless. And it begins with willing obedience to the not-so-new commandment which Jesus gave his disciples: Love the Lord your God; love your neighbor as you love yourself.

God first. Others second. Then me. It's a pretty easy formula to remember. It's a bit more difficult to live, however, because it gets in the way of so much of what the world promises. Awash in a celebrity culture that fawns over the self, we have a hard time fighting off the urge to draw attention to ourselves at the expense of God and others. The result is a narcissism that poisons human culture and makes real peace, justice and equity practically impossible.

And the really tough part is that it is so subtle. We get sucked in by the smallest of things...the praise of others at our successes (when we really should be thanking God for the ability to accomplish whatever we manage to do)...the desire to give our kids (or is it really ourselves?) so much of everything that there's no time left for regular worship or Christian nurture or real "family" time.

And as subtle as it is to fall into the trap, it's even harder to get out. Can you imagine the uproar if folks demanded that there be no more soccer games before 2:00pm on Sunday. Outrageous!

And yet, that kind of outrage may be just what is necessary. We need to re-assess...make some intentional decisions about what's important in our lives and the lives of our children. For some folks that will probably mean leaving the church and her faith even farther behind. I am sad for them. But hopefully for others it will mean a reclaiming of some control over their lives (something I'm guessing that most of us would like) based on a humble and grateful obedience to Christ...a re-prioritization (if there is such a word) that loves God first, that loves others second, and that is unafraid to love "me" third...knowing that God already holds us in love that is unfailing.

Such confidence in what Jesus promises...now there's the key to the world we all want.

Morning breath?

Help me with this one. It's based on an brief note I saw somewhere...can't remember where. But there is something intriguing about the notion of Jesus breathing on his disciples...breathing onto them the new day, eighth day, creation day. What did that morning breath do to the disciples? Set them free to speak on Pentecost? And what does it do to us? Sometimes I wonder if it's anything at all.

The joke's on the Devil...

There’s a very old tradition which says that the day after Easter Sunday is a day for telling jokes. Jesus’ rising from the dead, after all, is God’s great joke on the Devil. Now we get to join in the fun. So here are a few to share. Blessed Easter to you all!

***
A scientist was arguing with God that could make a human being just like God had made Adam. God took the challenge, knelt down in the dirt, and began molding it into the shape of a man. Likewise, the scientist knelt down and took some dirt into his hands. God, however, interrupted him: “Oh, no you don’t. You make your own dirt.”

***

GOOD SAMARITAN: A Sunday school teacher was telling her class the story of the Good Samaritan. She asked the class, 'If you saw a person lying on the roadside, all wounded and bleeding, what would you do?' A thoughtful little girl broke the hushed silence, 'I think I'd throw up.'

***

Billy Graham was returning to Charlotte after a speaking engagement. When his plane arrived, there was a limousine ready to transport him to his home. As he prepared to get into the limo, he stopped and spoke to the driver. "You know" he said, "I am 87 years old and I have never driven a limousine. Would you mind if I drove it for a while?" The driver said, "No problem. Have at it."

Billy gets into the driver's seat and they head off down the highway. A short distance away sat a rookie State Trooper operating his first speed trap. The long black limo went by him doing 70 in a 55 mph zone. The trooper pulled out and easily caught the limo, and got out of his patrol car to begin the procedure.

The young trooper walked up to the driver's door. When the window was rolled down he was surprised to see who was driving. He immediately excused himself and went back to his car and called his supervisor. He told the supervisor, "I know we are supposed to enforce the law, but I also know that important people are given certain courtesies. I need to know what I should do because I have stopped a very important person."

The supervisor asked, "Is it the governor?" The young Trooper said, "No, he's more important than that." The supervisor said, "Oh, so it's the president." The young trooper said, "No, he's even more important than that." The supervisor, exasperated, finally asked, "Well then, who is it?" The young trooper said, "I think it’s Jesus.”

“Jesus?” asked the supervisor. “Why, in heaven’s name, would you think it’s Jesus?”

“Because,” said the rookie, “he's got Billy Graham for a chauffeur.”

Getting to Easter...

I’m already looking forward to next Sunday. Michael and Rachel will be home for a few days. The church will be full of people, lilies, music and light. Spring and the promise of warmer days will be a few steps closer at hand…as the snow drifts outside my north window continue to melt away. What’s not to like about all that?

But I do a dis-service…maybe even damage…to my soul by skipping over the Holy Week before us, and straining ahead to Easter Sunday’s grand party. I wonder: is it possible to comprehend the joy of the resurrection without having contemplated the ugliness of the cross?

The temptation is certainly real. We don’t like things that are painful and messy. We don’t much care to focus on our own culpability in the whole affair. It’s more fun and (we often rationalize) better for us to concentrate on happy thoughts and our own innate goodness. I offer as proof the fact that I’ve never yet presided at a funeral where folks didn’t rush to assure me how the deceased “was a really good person.”

The hard truth? We are all dead in our sin. We have become separated from the God who created and loves us. Despite our best intentions, we find it impossible to live in obedience and humility to God because we are so much in love with ourselves first. The “really good person” our survivors will attest we were doesn’t happen and will never happen because of what we did or how we lived.

And yet...it does happen. It happens because of Jesus who is truly obedient and humble…who loves the Father and this fallen creation (including us) more than himself…and who proves that love on the Cross. We are restored to right relationship with God only because of what Christ has done: that’s the good news we celebrate on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and at Saturday’s Vigil of Easter.

Let me encourage you: don’t skip Holy Week…no matter how busy your life or crowded your calendar. Make time to hear the Gospel of Jesus’ love for you at the cost of His suffering and death. The story may not be as sweet as the chocolate bunny you’re anticipating next Sunday. But it will add new depth to your appreciation of the One who dies and rises to save the world.

Lord, if only...

The disciples insinuate it, but Martha is the first to say it (according to John 11): "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died." Her grief-stricken sister repeats the same words to Jesus through her tears. And finally, the crowd takes up the theme: "Surely a man who can heal someone born blind could have prevented Lazarus from dying."

From our perspective...standing 2000 years from death and resurrection...it might be tempting to sneer at our ancient brothers and sisters for just not getting who Jesus really is. How dense...how faithless were those folks, anyhow?

No more dense or faithless than us. The truth is that time hasn't necessarily improved our vision or understanding. A lot of our prayers and pleadings sound remarkably like theirs: "O God, if you'll just..." You complete the sentence: take away my cancer, stop all war, keep me from getting older and fatter, etc. The bottom line is that what we'd really like is a prophylactic messiah...someone who will shield us from the nastiness and grittiness of life and death...rather than someone who will show us the path to eternal life that goes right through death itself.

"I am the resurrection and the life," Jesus promises. "Yea, yea, yea," we respond...glad to hear it but not always ready to believe it. And then he does something amazing like raise Lazarus from the dead, even at the cost of his own life. Maybe that's enough to get our attention, and to see that this Christ is more than a genie granting our wishes. He is busy bringing new life...busy raising us from the dead, too.

Half a lung...

Sorry for missing you last week. I was ambushed by strep throat, and spent most of Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday laying in bed, taking medicine, and cursing the micro-biological invaders who had made my body their humble abode. Back to work this week with few side effects. I'm down to coughing up just half a lung in occasional spasms. And the doctor says that as long as I cover my mouth and wash my hands, I am no longer a walking plague dispensary.

A word of thanks to all those around Grace who simply stepped up and got things done. God has indeed blessed this place with talented and willing lay leadership.

By way of reflection on the experience, I'm reminded how thin is the ice on which we build our projects and lay out our calendars. Was it Keats or Browning? "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglee..." This is most certainly true. (Yes, Luther. That one I'm sure of.)

So all the good stuff I was to accomplish last week got lost in the fog and the fever. And guess what? The world continued to revolve. Sun up and sun down on schedule just as though I wasn't really in charge.

It's a tough lesson to learn, but one which in our wiser moments we might be privileged to grasp: a greater mind than ours holds the spinning worlds and blinking stars. Larger arms than ours cradle both a surging universe and the single body of a broken human being. Here the foolishness of the cross begins to make sense. It is in sickness and need when we most clearly see the power and grace of God...and can be thankful that we are its beneficiaries. This, too, is most certainly true.

Break Fast...

It's the habit (or tradition) for many of us to fast during this Lenten season...to intentionally deprive ourselves of some pleasure or treasure as a way of learning to discipline our often insatiable appetites. The end result, hopefully, is that we are better able to focus on the Savior who disciplines his life for our sake.

So, not to be nosy, but...have you broken your fast yet?

Sorry to say: I have. I lasted all of about two days. And I really wanted to do better this year...to prove to myself (if not to God) that I had the stamina and the fortitude to be really good...to take control of my life...to be a better human being. All I've proven is how weak and broken I really am. There's not much comfort in that. You may have already come to the same conclusion.

But there is comfort in knowing that the Father's capacity for mercy is greater than my resolve. There is comfort in knowing that Christ's death and resurrection cover even my sinfulness. There is comfort in knowing that the gift of the Spirit does not evaporate as quickly as my own enthusiasm for doing the right thing.

It is a new day. Thanks be to God: I get to start over.

Don't tell anyone...

What an intriguing conclusion to the story of Jesus' transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-9). Just when Peter, James and John get a flash of insight into the true nature of their Lord, Jesus instructs them not to say a word...at least not until after "the Son of Man has been raised from the dead." Oh, please. How do you keep such an experience under wraps?

But Jesus knows something about human nature which compels his command: we are suckers for the spectacular.

It's true. We love the glitzy and the glamorous...the headline-grabbers and the mega-performers. Jesus...dazzling on the mountaintop, holding forth with Moses and Elijah...certainly fits in that category. We could hardly help but be impressed. But if we think we know the truth about God from one shining moment, we are not just mistaken...we are deprived. And our faith will never be much more than a wilted plant, thirsting for the next infusion of life-giving excitement.

If, however, we are able to see the Divine also at work in the healing of the sick, the inclusion of the outcast, fellowship with sinners, and finally on the cross...then we might begin to grasp (and give thanks for the fact) that Christ comes not merely to amaze us, but to save us. And he does so not by ignoring or superceding our ordinary existence, but by sanctifying it with his own blood.

Now...we've got something to talk about!

Epiphany...

Maybe the word "manifestation" is better. Or maybe we should say something like "the appearing" or "the revealing." I think we sometimes miss the importance of this past Sunday's festival (The Day of Epiphany) because we can't quite grasp the weight which this word carries. After all...this is just a child who receives the homage of the magi. What's so revealing or portentious or manifest about that...especially in a society that is used to adoring its infants.

Ah...but how shallow our adoration when compared to theirs. The gifts we bring are ordinary and utilitarian. Diapers and even savings bonds or brokerage accounts hardly stack up to gold, frankincense and myrrh. And seldom do we come with such mighty expectations for the child. We might indulge them like material royalty, but we don't imagine that they'll give their lives for the sake of the world. And even weird Aunt Edna (doesn't every family have one of those?) can't hold a candle to these strange and mystical seers who come with offerings and warnings for Mary and her child.

Something special is, indeed, going on here. Something extraordinary is being revealed among us...so unusual that the stars themselves brighten and bend. For here is not just a child, but a scandal of cosmic proportions...God takes up human flesh that human flesh might some day take up God's own full intent for itself. And the child...this Jesus...is the first, the One, the pioneer and perfecter of a faith which will open every human heart to the power and presence of the Divine.

Epiphany. It has been revealed. O come; let us adore him!

'Twas the Week before Christmas...

This was written several years ago as a reflection on Matthew's telling of the birth of Jesus (1:18-25). I've always been struck by the nature of Joseph's struggles, finding in them many analogies to our own...and finding in his response a good model for our response to God. Herewith, a bit of poetry...and wishes for a very merry Christmas.

'Twas the week before Christmas and all through the place
every person was caught in the holiday race;
The stockings weren't hung; they'd not even been found;
and the cards were not sent, and nowhere around
were the cookies that should have been all baked and ready;
nor the ornaments made, nor the dinner plans steady.
And I with a sigh and Mama with a yawn
wondered how we would finish before Christmas dawn.
There we sat, not so nice, on the living room couch;
one tired and sad, and the other a grouch.

Perhaps we were snoozing; I don't really know,
but something or someone had startled us so
that we sprang to our feet to see what was the matter
while our hearts raced ahead of their usual patter.
When what to our wondering eyes should appear
but a village alive 'neath a night starry clear.

"Come this way," a voice seemed to lead us along
through a close, winding street towards the sound of a song.
There were people all over, crushed shoulder to shoulder,
and to stay with our guide we pushed on a bit bolder
until we were standing in front of a door
that was open, revealing a bare, earthen floor
and a rude, little room set with a straw and a trough
and a trio of doves cooing down from a loft.

"More water!" another voice hurried on by;
then a shout, "He is here!" and a woman's sharp cry.
And the song was replaced by a baby's first squall,
and a poor woman's tears from her nest in the stall.
"He is beautiful!" now a man softly exclaimed,
and his voice starting humming the song once again.
And taking his shawl, then the baby was clothed
in the prayers of his father and the love of all those
who had gathered to marvel at this long-waited birth
of a child and a promise and a hope for the earth.

"Yeshua is his name," soft the voice of his mother;
"God will save" was the murmur from one to another;
And the crowd backed away, and the babe fell asleep,
and the man looked to heaven and started to weep.

"Forgive me for doubting" he pled to the sky,
"all the words of the prophets from days long gone by
that you'd never abandon your creatures below."
And again came his song in a voice rich and low:
a simple refrain as his lullaby swelled,
"I love you, my child, my Emmanuel."

And then the dream vanished as quickly it came;
and we wakened to find most our things much the same.
Still the presents and parties and jobs to be done,
still the days over full and the work under fun.
But yet, in another way, subtle and true
this frantic-paced waiting is changed and made new;
Priorities shifted, and new questions raised:
Just what does it mean when the Lord of all Days
comes to live 'mongst his people and take as his own
their sins to be healed, and their hearts as his throne?

While the motive behind all our busy-ness is
to do just what is right; still the holiday's His.
All our gifts and our getting can never compare
to the gift of the child and the life that is there.
So I think of the song; may it fit to my voice!
May there be no temptation, no darkness, no choice
that would keep my own life from attesting it well:
"I love you, my child, my Emmanuel."

The way home...

There's a moment in the movie "Apollo 13" when Commander Jim Lovell (played by Tom Hanks) describes a harrowing experience during a mission over Korea. It's night and he's running low on fuel when something malfunctions...knocking out all his cockpit electronics. No radio, no lights, no gauges...nothing to help him find the aircraft carrier on which he is to land. This premier piece of aviation technology might as well be a rock since, when he runs out of fuel, thats precisely what it will fall like into the sea.

He prays for a way home and then looks out the cockpit window to the water below. There he sees a green bio-luminescent stream. It's algae...a simple sea-borne plant...that's been stirred up by the propellar of a large ship. He follows it straight to his carrier and a safe landing.

Relocated by their Babylonian captors, a disheartened group of exiles are afraid that they will never see their home, Jerusalem, again. But Isaiah (chapter 35) brings them the promise of a way...a Holy Way across the desert and back to Zion...which God will prepare for them. It's not something they can do on their own. But God who is faithful has not forgotten them, and will lead them by a way so clear and direct that even the most foolish can't mess it up.

What Isaiah foretells comes to pass. Judah does return to Zion in rejoicing. But Isaiah's prophecy is fulfilled in still another way...by the advent of God's Messiah...one who doesn't just show the way, but who...by his saving death and resurrection...is the Way.

That's good news in an age which trusts its own technology too much and then despairs the disappointments too deeply. Remember: when the night is dark, when the road is long, when your own efforts have failed, God in Christ is faithful still. By means of humility, self-sacrifice and steadfast love, God gathers us to himself. The way home is there for us and will not fail.

All I Want for Christmas...

...is my two front teeth. It's a silly old song, but a seasonal classic. I've already heard it twice this year on the "all-Christmas-music, all-the-time-until-you-run-screaming-from-the-room" radio channel. And that's about enough for me.

But it raises an interesting question. How much does what we want shape our behaviors and our attitudes? If we want new teeth, we daydream about what we'll do with them (including wishing you a Merry Christmas). If we're fixated on that new Wii, we're likely to notice how our old Playstation 2 just doesn't cut it anymore. If we're hoping that Santa will drop a new Lexus in our driveway, it's likely that our palms get sweaty when we see one on the street...and that we begin to really notice all the little things wrong with our current jalopy. You get the idea.

Christians aren't exempt from wanting these things (or a myriad of other necessities and toys). But we also want something else, yes? We await the coming kingdom of God...a reign of peace, wholeness, justice and dignity where God's values finally supplant our own. And in our waiting...our wanting...our anticipation for this grand future...how is the present time of life changed? It's worthy considering: What behaviors and attitudes in our lives reflect the already but not yet nature of the rule of God in our lives?

Black Friday...

Perhaps you were one of the millions of folks who swarmed into stores last Friday at 4:00am to kick off the holiday shopping season. I personally don't understand the attraction. But then, I wouldn't jump out of an airplane or wrestle alligators either. I suppose everyone has their own sense of adventure.

What intrigues me is the name that the retailers have given their big day...Black Friday. For those in my generation and older, the word black (apart from its racial implications) is usually associated with the negative or empty or disappointing. "Black Friday" hardly means that for retailers who (some of them at least) count on that day and the season to follow to make their entire sales year. It's just that the name seems weird.

Then again...we Christians celebrate a Friday, too. We call it "Good." At first glance, it's the most terrible day we could possibly imagine. But it turns out that what happens on that day and on the brief three-day season to follow makes our entire year, too...indeed, our entire life.

Black Friday. Good Friday. Funny names. But I guess it makes sense after all.

Jesus the Turkey?

I'm scheduled to be the preacher at this week's Community Thanksgiving service (Wednesday at 7:00pm at St. John's United Church of Christ, Elmore). Stands to reason, then, that it's about time to think about the sermon.

So here's a first thought...a question, actually? That turkey which you will enjoy on Thursday at Grandma's house...what did he ever do to you? And yet we will jump in, carve him up and eat him until we are somewhere well past full.

The turkey...an innocent victim of our hungers. The turkey...a Christ figure? Maybe. Guess it all depends on what we do afterwards. Fall asleep in the Lazy-Boy with our pants undone...or discover that we've been fed so that we can feed...so that we can witness to the providence of God.

We'll see where this analogy goes by Wednesday evening.

Praying with the Saints...

We paused and prayed in the chapel beneath the old basilica at Assisi, Italy. There above the altar are the remains of the blessed St. Francis. My Roman Catholic colleagues described that experience as an opportunity to pray to St. Francis for the sake of the world. And they were deeply gratified by the experience. Probably because I'm Lutheran, I found myself praying with St. Francis...also for the sake of the world and for the peace for which he so famously prayed.

Praying to? Praying with? Is there a difference? I think so. And it may be a difference worthy of more theological reflection than a brief blog entry can accommodate. But in the meantime, allow me to suggest...

Francis and all of God's holy ones...those gone before us, those with whom we now share the earthly church, and those whose days in this sphere are yet to come...are one in the mystical body of Christ. We cannot perceive it completely because we are bound by the mortal constraints of space and time. God...our God of the living...is not so bound. So His holy ones are there with us at the font, around the table, and in the community's life of prayer, worship and praise. They are our sisters and brothers...our friends in the faith. And in the same way we would ask a friend in this life to pray with us or for us, might we not also ask the saints of every time and place that their prayers would be joined with ours and ours with theirs?

Often afraid of being "too Catholic," we Lutherans have avoided the saints. It occurs to me that we have done so to our own detriment. In our worship, in our understanding of the depth and breadth of Christian experience, we would do well to remember the saints...and to join our prayer to theirs.