THE NON-SENSE OF THE GOSPEL

Paul reminds us that the gospel is certainly not of human origin (Galatians 1:11). If the gospel were of human origin, it would make much more sense. There would be no hero being killed but rather the hero conquering the world. There would be no miracles as these are beyond human capabilities. There would be straightforward talk and not convoluted advice by way of parables that asked more questions than they answered.

There certainly would not be commands about turning the other cheek, walking the extra mile, having care and concern for those in prison, forgiving always, and on and on. All that may make one kind and caring but it certainly would not be of assistance in making one successful in this world. As Paul would opine later, the gospel is truly foolishness for those who do not believe. In other words: nonsense.

Of course that is also why Paul had a very difficult time preaching that gospel. It was and is not of human origin. No sensible person could make it up and no sensible person could or would believe it. And that was Paul’s constant message. If what he preached was true, that truth had to come directly from God and, even more, Paul himself had to believe that that is from where this gospel proceeded.

Today we receive the gospel message from ordinary human beings, people who have not received the same kind of revelation that Paul did. Nevertheless, like the people to whom Paul was sent to preach, we believe this gospel to be of divine origin even though it has been handed down to us through people just like us. The truth is that the gospel Paul preached makes no more sense today than it did in his day. In other words, once again, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!

So why do we believe this gospel to be true? Why do we model our lives on the messenger of this gospel? Why do we take his words to be the commandments we use to guide our lives? Why do we believe that what seems like nonsense is not? Why?

The answer is quite simple: we have had a divine revelation no less that the one Paul had. No, we did not see visions or hear God’s voice. Ours came in a much less observable manner. In fact, we probably did not even know that we received a revelation when it was taking place. It was non-sensible. We may not even know when it took place. Unlike Paul, the fact is that most of us do not.

Somewhere in our life’s journey we came to believe in this gospel. That was our divine revelation. That is the moment when we came to believe that all this foolishness is not so foolish after all. In fact, far from being foolish, it makes total sense and it is the way we have chosen to live our lives. Faith is a gift from God, a revelation of God to us that the gospel is true, is believable and must be followed.

Our faith makes sense out of nonsense even though we never sensed when that change came about, understand how or why it happened, but it did and we are thankful. Now to live it each day even when it might seem like nonsense to do so.

YOU MIGHT AS WELL LOVE IT

We visit Arlena’s Mom on a regular basis, every two weeks or less. We do some housework, make sure her meds are taken care of, take her to lunch and do some grocery shopping. Depending on how she feels, there is a trip to the mall that is included, especially is she’s seen an ad for some kind of sale. Even at ninety-five one never has enough clothes or shoes or purses.

The last time we were with her, I stayed around to wait for the people who were coming in from Columbus to install a new rain-protection, gutter-guard system while mother and daughter went shopping. On the way to their various destinations, one of which was to Kroger’s, Arlena’s Mom said, “I really love grocery shopping.” Arlena was somewhat taken aback.

“Really, Mom?” she asked. Her Mom replied: “Well, you have to go grocery shopping so you might as well love it.” Really? Love taking out the garbage, scrubbing the floors, mowing the lawn and all those other chores that go with owning a home? Love going to work? Love going to school? Love cleaning your room or doing homework? No matter how old or how young there are always demands on us that we would rather not fulfill but have to and, at the same time, we should love doing?

Well, yes. If we look upon them as simply drudge work, we will hardly ever do them well or certainly not as well as we could or should. If our heart is not into what we are doing, we are likely to make a mess of it. Half-heated attempts are better not begun than begun at all. We all know that from first-hand experience. Yet we still go through life half-heartedly doing what needs our full attention if not love.

What would happen if we actually looked forward to doing those things that we think as drudgery, whatever they may be? What if we would put heart and soul into it? Whistle while we work, as the old song has it? Whenever what we are doing becomes something we look forward to, even as mundane as scrubbing the floor, it makes what we are doing so much easier and we’ll even do a better job.

It’s all a mindset, of course. Scrubbing floors will never be on par with relaxing on the beach. Nor should it. My wife has a Honey-Do List for me on the counter most every day. I get pleasure out of crossing of each chore as it is completed. I am even getting to the point of looking forward to see what she has next in mind for me to do. I have not yet gotten to the place where I can say that I love doing what is on the list.

That will take time. I suspect it took Arlena’s Mom quite a while before she came to love grocery shopping but she is there and that’s what matters. Changing our mindset, changing the way we look at life, does take time. Imagine what our life would be if we learned to love everything we do! Yes, imagine!

CHILDREN UNDER 12 AND ADULTS OVER 60

My wife and I spent a few days in the Allegheny Mountains about two hours from us. (I know, calling them “mountains” to our friends in Spokane would give them a hardy chuckle. Having lived there, I know what a real mountain looks like.) It was good to just get away, really relax, take some long walks, breathe in the fresh “mountain” air. We could have stayed longer but our walking trail around the golf course was interrupted by the sound of gun shots from deer hunters in the nearby woods. But it was enough.

On one of our walks we trekked around Little Flipper Lake, a place set aside for fishing for, as the sign read, “Children under 12 and adults over 60.” Fifteen years ago when I was 60 I probably would have taken that as sort of a slap in the face. I wasn’t decrepit, slow of foot, needed help in any way. And even though my body is slower to heal, when sitting too long causes me to groan when I stand up, when I am slower of foot because of three hip surgeries, I now take that sign as a compliment.

I am not too old to play. And, in fact, maybe that is what part of aging is to be about: playing, especially playing with children under 12, being a grandparent to your own grandchildren if they don’t live too far away and being a stand-in grandparent to those whose grandparents are too far away or who have none. I know one of the privileges I missed growing up was not having a grandparent to play with me.

I survived, of course, because I had great parenting. But grandparents, real or substitute, are special. Ask any grandchild. Our youngest, Carter, thinks I hung the moon. But then, the feeling is mutual. Being with children under 12 keeps us young. They also open our eyes to realities we have often shut them to as we grow older. For Carter, who is three, the world is wonderful. Everything is interesting and he can’t get enough of it.

Even more so, everyone is equal. Carter’s daycare class is filled with kids of all races and mixed races. He doesn’t see color. He sees someone just like him: a kid to get to know, to play with, to learn with and learn from and even to do some teaching himself. The only way Carter will think he is or they are different is if his parents tell him so, and they will not, that is for certain.

We were all that way once. We did not recognize differences or, if we did, we didn’t think they mattered very much. We knew our parent’s car was different from the car our friend’s parents drove, but a car was a car. Differences didn’t matter. They still don’t even though, sadly, we, as a nation and world, seem to think and act as if they do, much to our sadness and loss, a very real loss.

That sign at Little Flipper Lake made me smile. It also made me thankful that no matter how old we get, no matter how much our steps slow or our muscles weaken, we have a real and important place in this world. We always have even though we sometime lose that place. And, lest we forget, so do children under 12. They have so much to re-teach us, lessons we have forgotten, lessons this world needs to re-learn and put back into practice. Thanks, Carter, for your continual reminder.

SHALL WE DANCE?

Glad you asked. Wish I could. But I have two left feet. I took dance lessons once, back in fifth and sixth grade. They were held in the evenings at the public school I attended. In hindsight, I think there were two reasons why I took the lessons. First, all my buddies did. Second, it was a chance to dance with Myrtle Lou Fritz, my and all my buddies' heartthrob back in elementary school.

I was half successful. I never really learned how to dance -- anyone can learn the "box step." But I did get to dance with Myrtle Lou. Made my year. I wonder what ever happened to her. What happened to me is that I never got any better. So when on those rare, very rare, occasions when my wife and I dance, I move slowly and try not to step on her feet. If the tempo speeds up, I sit.

There are times, however, when I don't have a choice, when I can't sit this one out, when I have to get out on the floor and do my best, hoping I don't make a complete fool of myself. Those are the times when I have to be part of the dance of life, if you will. Actually, I, we, do have a choice. We can refuse to dance. We can sit this one out if we so choose, for the choice is always ours. No one can make us join the dance.

           

A church, a Christian community, can be likened, in a way, to a dance. And as Christians, both as individuals and as a community/church, we are asked to dance all the time. Even more, we ask others to dance with us, or certainly should. We are to reach out a hand and reach for theirs and ask, "Shall we dance?" At that point it is out of our hands for the offer can be refused or accepted.

There are many reasons why we turn down the offer to dance or are turned down ourselves. Sometimes the reason is that we believe we have to know all the steps before we can get out onto the floor. Sometimes we refuse because we are afraid to make a mistake. Sometimes we refuse simply because we are stubborn or lazy or both. The reasons, the excuses are many and almost always seem valid.

Forming and shaping Christian community, be that community a family (like yours and mine), a church (like the one of which we are a member) or The Church (like The Episcopal Church), involves risk. It involves getting out onto the dance floor and knowing ahead of time that we may step on someone's toes; that we may trip, stumble and even fall.

It also involves sharing and learning, humility and patience, every human emotion. And it is work. And it takes practice. Before the dance instructor allowed us to pair up, we had to practice the step over and over and over again until we got it right. It was a pain, but I was thankful. God forbid I would step on Myrtle Lou’s delicate toes! But it was worth it.

So, too, for us in the dance of life. If we are willing to take the risk, in the end, it is worth it. It always is.

Shall we dance? Why not?

NO MARGINS

The sad truth is that most of us, or at least too many of us, are too exhausted to enjoy life. We don't have enough time to do what we would like to do and need to do and that is time to delight. If there is any free time to delight in the day, the moment, we find ways to fill that time rather quickly. As someone has said, what has happened is that there are no margins left in our lives. We've filled them in. And we brag about and delight in the fact that we find little or no delight in life.

Even those of us who are retired seem to leave no or little margins. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard in a hundred times from people who are retried: “I’m busier now than when I was working.” I’ve said it myself. I don’t know if it is true about those others, but I know it’s true about me.

When there are no – or very little – margins in our lives, there is little time for rest, for Sabbath and for Sabbath-keeping. Keeping Sabbath doesn't mean going to church and then filling the rest of the day with other activities: cutting the grass, painting the house, weeding the garden. Sabbath is a time for rest. It is family time.

Growing up I remember my Sabbaths, my Sundays, always being the same. We went to church on Sunday morning; had a light lunch at home with the family around the kitchen table, and then went to Grandpa's house for the afternoon to visit, to eat, to be with family. When we came home, it was time for bed. There was no going to the mall -- there was none. There was no shopping: the stores were closed. And there was nothing to do on Sunday evening even if you were an adult: the Blue Laws kept everything closed. It may have been an enforced Sabbath rest, but at least there was some rest.

Not anymore. Most of us have our Sundays filled. And if they are not filled, we wonder if there is something wrong. The idea of a day of rest has gone the way of the Blue Laws and a Sunday afternoon drive to the park or to get ice cream. And I wonder how many people go to Grandpa's any more for Sunday dinner. The problem is not that Grandma and Grandpa live across the state or across the country. The problem is that Grandma and Grandpa aren't home. They're out filling in the margins of their own Sundays.

We're never going to bring back the 50's (or before). Times and society have changed. But we do not have to be the victims. We are in control of our own lives. We can keep Sabbath, erase the filled-up spaces, make room for margins in our lives. Rest, leisure, is not a sin, no matter what our Puritan genes try to tell us. And we all have them. It may be true that an idle mind and an idle body are the devil's workshop. But the devil has a better chance when we are exhausted than when we are well rested.

Jesus always made it a practice in his life to not only take time for Sabbath rest, but he made and took time for longer periods of rest. It was the only way he could do his ministry. We are no different. As long as we keep filling in those margins in our lives, leaving no time for real rest, then we will continue to be exhausted and incapable of finding the delight there is in and to life.

RESIDENT ALIENS

In one way or another we are all strangers in a strange land, resident aliens, if you will. Our faith tells us that our real citizenship is in heaven; until then we are residing in alien territory. So what we do while residing here is to make this strange land hospitable, even habitable. It is often a struggle.

One of the basic human drives is to look for rootedness, to find a home. Once we have found a home, once we discover roots, we are often very reluctant to pull up those roots and move, even if the move is a promise of a better place and life. If we have never moved before, we quickly discover how deep those roots are, how difficult it is to be uprooted.

What we also discover when we have moved on, picked up those roots, is that trying to be re-rooted is not always easy. It's like gardening and medicine: transplants are not always successful; and even if they are, they often come only after a long and hard struggle.

What the transplanted looks for is that hospitable climate where new roots can quickly find support and nourishment, find a safe home, a shelter. While the "alien" may reside in a new place, the alien does not wish to be the stranger, the newcomer, for long. It/he/she wants to become part of the new environment, as if there had been a life-long, or certainly long-time residence. But for that to happen, the old-timers have to welcome the newcomer with open arms. While rejection is an option, it is never desired. Yet it is the fear of rejection that makes being uprooted so frightening.

What is interesting is that the word "stranger" in Greek also means "guest" and "host." Thus, there is a mutuality there. There is, and must be, a mutual reaching out. The stranger reaches out for new roots. The host reaches out to the stranger's roots to pull him in. The host can refuse, of course, but at the risk of the host's own death.

The body can refuse the new heart; the garden can refuse the new plants. Rejection is always a possibility. But, again, rejection means eventual death. Thus, what both stranger and host are each looking for is new life. The stranger wants to find new life in a strange land; the host wants the new life the stranger can and does bring.

It is frightening; no doubt about it. Being uprooted, accepting new roots is a venture into the unknown. Resurrection, new life always is. But that is also what hospitality is: an opportunity for resurrection, for new life -- for everyone.

When a stranger comes into our community, that stranger brings new life to us and new life for himself. To be sure, we do not always, if ever, know what that new life will look like, only that it will be new and different and, hopefully, better for every one of us. But we never know for sure. That is why there is that reluctance in us to be hospitable to strangers. Yet we all are, all resident aliens, strangers, foreigners. We need one another and need to reach out to one another even if it is with trembling hands.

DID YOU SEE JESUS?

A funny story one of the guys told at our men’s breakfast: A drunk was wondering by the river when he came upon a preacher standing in the river dunking people into the water. He waded into the water and came up to the preacher who asked him if he wanted to be baptized. He said that he would. So the preacher dunked him under the water, said a few words and then asked him after he shook of the water, “Did you see Jesus?” He said that he had not.

The preacher dunked him again while holding him under a bit longer. When he came sputtering to the surface, the preacher asked him again if he had seen Jesus. Again he replied in the negative. So the preacher tried one more time holding him under for what seemed like almost too long. He asked the same question about seeing Jesus. The man said “No.” But then added, “He must have fallen in somewhere else.”

There’s a lesson there and it is obvious that it is not about the third time being the charm. It is, however, about seeing Jesus. For that same question could be asked of each one of us being stone sober every day of our lives. “Did you see Jesus today?” we are asked. If we respond in the negative it is not because Jesus must have been somewhere else when we were looking for him. The reason is that we weren’t looking for him.

All we have to do is open our eyes and we will see Jesus, see Jesus in every person we meet, pass by, think about, see on television, communicate with on Facebook, converse with by tweeting, etc., etc., etc. Jesus is in every person, including and especially us, because each one of us is a child of God. That being said, it means that somehow in some way we can see Jesus in every person.

Granted, that is sometimes very hard to do especially when the person we are encountering has done or said something horrific, ungodly, obscene. Nevertheless, Jesus is somewhere in that person. It is up to us to find that Jesus and, even more so, to help that person to see the Jesus living inside.

Jesus spent his whole ministry finding the good even in those whose actions were not good at all, in the people who were out to get him and in the people who were putting him to death. When he forgave them from the cross, he hoped they would hear his words, look inside themselves and see that good for themselves. He could not make them see. They would have to see for themselves. All he could do was tell them that it was there. Now it was up to them to search their hearts for it.

The same is true for you and me. When others see us living out our faith especially when it is difficult, our actions prod them to look inside themselves. When we see others living out their faith, their actions prod us to look inside ourselves. The question always remains to be asked of us each day: “Did you see Jesus?” What will our answer be?