I love little stories that make me think. Here’s one… It’s short…don’t blink.
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I’ve been thinking about my dog, Karma, lately. Whenever we grieve, we sort through memories, let go of some, hold on tightly to others. We glean among them for the meaning that we’ll carry forward. What did I learn? How was I changed?
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I suspect that from the very beginning of human history, human beings had some sense that there was “something more” to this life, something sacred. Those nomadic people with their handful of animals or those subsistence farmers, scratching at the ground had to be so aware of how totally vulnerable they were. Evidence seems to suggest that the earliest “gods” were connected to those vulnerabilities: a sun god; a rain god, a fertility god; a healing god and on an on. If there was a problem between human beings, they could appeal to each other. If there was a larger problem, they could appeal to or do things to appease those gods. Maybe a sacrifice to the right god will bring some rain or make winter end or bring a cure for my loved one.
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So, I’m writing this sermon before we left on the work trip because the last thing that I want to do is come home on Friday night and have to write on Saturday. I know that I’ll be too exhausted. I know that my head will be buzzing with everything that’s happened. I know that I will only be starting to make sense of all those moments. That’s why I’m going to tell you the gist of what happened on work trip ahead of time…
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Today is a day with layered meanings. First, it is Memorial Day weekend. This is the unofficial opening weekend of summer! If you have a cabin, chances are you are there and opening it up, maybe even putting the dock in. If you’re a gardener, you finally can feel confident about getting those last plants in, no more frost until the fall. If you love to grill, even if you’ve grilled all winter, now you’re ready to bring your “A game.” Those are all sacred things!
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Last week, I tried to speak honestly way about the decline of Christianity in America. I don’t think this is the result of nefarious forces trying to destroy the church. I think the church has damaged itself.
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Eventually, I’m going to talk to you about chicken wings this morning. First, though, I need to tell you a few hard truths…
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Two weeks ago, we listened to the story of the appearance of the risen Christ to two people on the road to Emmaus. The people are talking about what they had seen in Jerusalem during the Passover festival. They had hoped that Jesus would be the one to overthrow the Romans and return Israel to its glory as a nation. They believed that the solution to what was wrong in their world would be a political change.
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Last Sunday, I made a mistake. I started out worship and announced—with authority—that our PADS Sunday (when we bring food to feed the homeless) was next week. Our sign up begins two weeks ahead of the date. Someone always gets a little confused about when the actual day is. That’s why you have me, folks! Except, I was totally and completely wrong. Of course, I didn’t realize that until an hour later when Tracy shared the news: “PADS is today.”
After whistling for everyone’s attention at coffee hour and setting things straight and apologizing a solid, dozen times, I was sitting in the office, shaking my head. Two of the newer folks to the community walked in. I said to them, “You know…I made it 27 years without making a mistake!” They did a bit of a double take. Then, I started laughing: “Actually,” I said, “I’m good for a mistake a day…”
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When I was little, I believed with all my heart in the cavalry. You know…in a t.v. show or in a movie, the good guys are fighting a noble battle but they are being overwhelmed. The bad guys are surrounding them. The marginally good guys, the one’s you haven’t been led to care so deeply about, are slowly being picked off, one-by one. Then, in the distance, you hear a trumpet blare. Soon, the call of the trumpet is overwhelmed by the sound of thundering hooves. The good guys, still trapped, eye one another up and nod and smile: the cavalry has arrived. They’ve come to save the day.
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Here’s the truth, as I see it. Jesus didn’t come to show us how to get into heaven or stay out of hell. Jesus came to show us how to live, how to live a meaningful, faithful, caring, loving life. We can live that love, in part, because God loves us first. Then, if we can accept that love, God invites us to be transformed, “Now, get over yourself and get on with the business of loving that person in need who is standing right there in front of you.” Jesus’ best days were spent not eradicating poverty or hunger or loneliness from the face of the earth. Rather, Jesus healed the world, one person at a time. We are called to join him in that work.
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A few months ago, I announced to Tracy: “I’m going to focus on the Gospel of Mark for Lent.” Without hesitation, she said, “Oh, no! Why would you choose to do that?” I chuckled to myself and thought, “Wow, Trace, what do you really think?” I knew what she was saying, though: who would choose to tell an Easter story in which the risen Jesus never appears? Let that sink in…
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