The Mustard Seed

 

Sermon: "The Blessed Mess"

“The Blessed Mess”                Text: 1 Corinthians 10:14-17

World Communion Sunday

Elpis Christian Church

October 2, 2011

 

 

Many of you may not realize it – but every year, here at Elpis, two important events occur on the same weekend – our Fall Festival and World Communion Sunday.  It’s always struck me how fitting that is.  To get together and, on the one hand, spend all that time chopping those onions or peeling those potatoes or cooking that meat or stirring those huge stew pots filled with Brunswick Stew – and on the other hand, spend some time gathering around the Lord’s Table in worship and thanksgiving.  Both events are about fellowship.  Both events demand something of us.  Both events draw us close together as a church family and both events call us to reach out to the hungry community outside these four sanctuary walls.  Butter Beans and Blessed Ordinance of the Church – those two just go together well, I think.

And there is something else that is kind of ironic.  At both our Fall Festival and at the Lord’s Supper – things can get a little messy now and then.  At the festival it’s all about mixing and chopping and stirring and pricing and selling that yard sale stuff.  At the Lord’s Supper it’s about prayerfully and thankfully recognizing that the cup represents spilt blood and that the broken bread represents a broken body sacrificially given in love for all people.  That symbolism is sometimes lost on us as we rush through the ceremony each week.  But sometimes it becomes very clear.  Take for example what happened at one worship service held years ago in a chapel gathering somewhere.  Here’s the story, which also explains my sermon title today:

“The “Blessed mess” –as it was later called by eyewitnesses - happened unexpectedly during a solemn academic worship service. The Faculty and the student body filled the chapel of the Seminary. The choir performed magnificently. Preaching in his festive robe, the Dean delivered a powerful message. The occasion was heightened by the fact that it was Communion time a significant event, when everybody in the school was expected to attend.

Everything went as scheduled and without blunder though a number of professors and students participated in the Liturgy. When the part of the Lord’s Supper was reached, the youngest and recently appointed new Faculty member walked to the Communion Table ready to serve the Holy Supper.

He was a thin, diminutive person of quiet voice and gentle manner. Since this was his first ministerial function in the Seminary he was noticeably tensed, working hard to do everything in the traditional, “proper” way. He handled his part well and nobody expected trouble till he lifted up the Communion bread. While quoting the words of Christ, “This is my body broken for you”, he was supposed to break the symbol of that body into two halves.

Apparently the loaf had an unusually tough, thick crust because the young professor’s long, narrow fingers could not break through it. He tried once, twice, many times, turning the bread desperately around looking for a better grip and a weaker spot – but in vain. It resisted all assaults.

The people watched his pitiable efforts with increasing shock and dismay. Not knowing what to do, nobody moved to help him in his struggle. And struggle it was. Sweating and panting, gradually disregarding any semblance of solemnity, the professor was stubbornly determined to break that bread. With full force he violently pushed it and pulled it, forced his thumbnails into it, tried to peel off bits and pieces. As the result of this horrendous fight eventually the impeccable Holy Table was covered with crumbs and small torn parts of the non-cooperating bread. It was a real mess. 

Yet, the declaration of the Lord, “This is my body broken for you”, received a deeper and lasting meaning on that day. 

After the service, participants thanked the professor for such an unusual visual presentation of Christ’s suffering. One said: “This was my most memorable Communion Service because it helped me realize that salvation is the result of such a struggle against brokenness”.”

Salvation is the result of such a struggle against brokenness.  Think about that for a minute.  Maybe it takes a “blessed mess” at the communion table to sometimes remind us of what it really means – so that we don’t take it for granted.   It may be that one of the dangers of using neatly chopped up bread or perfectly shaped unleavened pieces is that we forget the broken aspect of it all.   And, in the same way, maybe getting knee deep in the messiness of our annual fall festival can remind us of something too.  That we are not a perfect community by a long shot; that we are broken, imperfect people who get mixed together – like that Brunswick stew we sold yesterday – mixed together in big pots of love and poured out sacrificially for others in Christ’s name.

I know, I know – some of you are probably thinking – “Man, he’s really going out on a limb today – trying to really make something out of a simple pot of stew or a weekly communion service.”  But that’s what preachers like me do.  We take the common elements of our life – be they Brunswick stew or Communion Bread – and search for symbolism there that can help us to appreciate what our life of faith and service is all about.  So bear with me.  Think about it a little.  Think about how God, in his wisdom, and in his love does this in our lives.  He takes the messes we make – and the messes we are – and blesses them in His service.  Doesn’t He?

And then that leads to a question.    How are we doing with that?  On this World Communion Sunday, and on this Fall Festival weekend, how are we doing at making ourselves available as part of God’s “blessed mess”?

One of the things that was very important to the apostle Paul was that he help others understand that God can take you and your life; turn you upside down; shake you up a bit; and make something wonderful to His glory.  That’s what God did in Paul’s life.  That’s what he did in the lives of those of the early church who sacrificed everything they had to be part of this thing called the “Body of Christ.”  He took all they were; all they had to offer and put it into service.  And, especially at the Lord’s Supper, they were constantly reminded of how Christ had given himself for them and for the entire world in just that way.   Paul asks those pivotal questions in today’s text: “Is not the cup of thanksgiving for which we give thanks a participation in the blood of Christ?  And is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ?”

He might just as well have put it this way:

“Every time we come together around this table – and we eat this messy, broken bread and we spill a little of this wine getting it into our mouths – doesn’t that remind us all of what God did for us and how he made us one people because of it?  Sacrifice is a messy thing.  But it’s that sacrifice that has brought us and all of God’s people together as one.  So let’s overlook each other’s faults – each other’s sins – each other’s weaknesses – let’s overlook or forgive each other’s messiness – and let’s be one people the way God want us to be one people – in His spirit and in his love.”

And then he hammers the point home: “Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body.”

We live in a broken and very messy world.  There are a lot of people who feel disenfranchised – which is a fancy way of saying – they feel like they just don’t fit in; that they have been pushed aside by life and forgotten.  At things like our Fall Festival, and especially at times like when we gather around the Lord’s Table, we have a wonderful chance to do something.  We can say to our community “we want you to be a part of who we are in Christ’s name.”  We can do so much more than just sell a little stew or some old yard sale items and make some money for the church.  We can open the doors of the church and the doors of our hearts and invite someone in.  And – at this table – we can remind ourselves and proclaim to the entire world – that we are one people beloved by God.  We are far from perfect; in some ways we have a made a mess of things.  But we are the people of God living in a broken and messy world as those who know something very important.  God has not forgotten about it.  God has not pushed us, or any of his children, aside. God wants us all at his table and in his kingdom.

I like that the Fall Festival and World Communion Sunday fall on the same weekend every single year.  Because it says loud and clear: “Welcome to our ‘blessed mess.’  Come in and join us in the spirit that makes us one in Christ!”

            I want to conclude today with a simple invitation.  It’s an invitation to the Lord’s Supper.  But it’s an invitation to a lot more than just that.  It’s a call to thanksgiving and to service as part of the worldwide body of Christ:

“Come to this table, not because you must, but because you may.  Come not because you are worthy, but because you realize your unworthiness.  Come not because you love God so much but because you love God a little and you want to know more about how to love God.”

Come to his table – his messy, glorious, holy and blessed table.

 

AMEN.

 

 

Sermon: "Water in the Desert"

“Water in the Desert”                                                 Text: Exodus 17:1-7

Elpis Christian Church

September 25, 2011

 

 

            “Is the Lord among us or not?”  I don’t suppose there could be a more important question ever asked.  And that’s saying a lot given how many questions confront us in life.  But when I think of all the ways, and all the circumstances, in which I and others I have known have asked that one, single, burning question – I’ll stand on what I’ve said.  It’s the most important one ever asked.  Because when you boil it all down – if the Lord isn’t among us – we are lost in the most profound of ways.  And life, well, it’s just a merry-go-round or a roller coaster that takes us up and down and around and eventually dumps us out in a cold, empty, dead universe.  Game over.

            So – how good it is to answer the question in the affirmative today.  God IS among us – God has ALWAYS been among us.  God WILL ALWAYS BE among us.  And that makes life a whole another thing.  It makes if full and rich and ultimately meaningful.  Not a game at all, but a journey with a wonderful destination.  And that – is what the people of Israel had to learn.  That is what WE have to learn.  Unfortunately, too often, we learn it the hard way.

            When I was a kid there were some lessons I just had to learn the hard way.  How about you?

 

• There was the time I took a small, pearl-handled pocket knife to school, and, though it was against school rules, couldn’t resist whipping it out at lunch time and performing surgery on the paper cup on my lunch tray.  You would’ve thought I had brought a loaded machine gun in and shot up the place.  But – rules are rules. And soon I was in the principal’s office.
• There was the time – more than one time really – when my eyes were too big for my stomach – and I had to choke down food that my parent’s had paid for with hard earned money because I had insisted on ordering from the “adult” menu instead of wisely choosing from the “kids” meals.
• There were all the times I suffered through exams because I had spent too much time the night before watching TV instead of reading my notes.

 

 

And then, there are of course the adult times when I’ve had to learn things the hard way too.  When I have said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing, refused to do what I knew to be the right thing because of pride or ignorance or some combination of both.  I won’t ask you to embarrass yourself by sharing the times you have failed in life like that – and I will thank you to not ask me for any specific examples from my own life.  But you and I both know – we have plenty of occasions we could recall, don’t we?

Life, for all its joys, is full of hard lessons.  Maybe that is why I like reading about the people of Israel and their wilderness wanderings.  Because time and time again they are just so dumb.  And time and time again, God is so good to them in spite of their stupidity.  Maybe it somehow allows me to feel superior – because I can so easily see what the people of Israel could not see.

One of those times was the one I just read about.  When Moses and the people quarreled with each other about whether or not God was with them in that desert.  And when God and Moses proved once again that He was – by providing the thirsty people with a little refreshment from, of all places, a dirty old rock.  Here the people have to, one more time, admit how little they understand about life and about God and about the glorious reality that he will never leave them high and dry in their wilderness wandering.  Here they learn once again that even out of a place as unlikely as a rock in the desert – He can provide life-giving sustenance.

I’m sure they were grateful for the water when it came gushing out of that stone.  But in a way, it was probably a little bitter to drink as well – because surely they weren’t shamed by their lack of faith.  It’s easy to feel superior to them.  To say, “Why didn’t you trust God?”  But come on – are we any better?  Don’t we have an equally astounding lack of faith now and then?

So that leads me to this.  If the most important question we can ask in life is “Is God among us or not?” and if the life affirming answer is that He is – and that He has proved that time and again.  How do we handle this recurrent, deadly, lack of faith that plagues us all now and then?

Today I want to suggest a couple of things.  I want to suggest a couple of ways that when you are out there in the desert looking at all those dusty looking rocks that surround you – you can remember – God – the rock of our salvation – has some living water for you – right at hand.

In those dry, dusty, moments of weak or nearly non-existent faith – here are a couple of things I want you to remember to do.

 

1. Remember you are not the only one to ever experience what you are experiencing.
2. Remember that what you are experiencing – no matter how painful or frightening – is only temporary.
3. Remember that you are never, ever, alone because even if every other person on the face of the earth were to abandon you – God never will.  Remember that proves just how precious you are in God’s sight.
4. Remember then, in light of that, how you have something ultimately valuable and unique to offer to this world.  So get busy finding out what it is – and get busy doing it.

 

Do that – and I think you will soon find yourself moving out of your confusion, or your grief, or your anger or your cynicism or your lack of faith or whatever it is that is temporarily defeating you and holding you back in life.

Look at those unhappy, grumbling, desert wanderers in our passage today.  They were struggling because they had failed to do each one of the things I just mentioned.

 

• They had forgotten that they were not the only ones to ever wander in need. 
• They were so busy feeling sorry for themselves they couldn’t even recall how God had set them free from their slavery.  They had fallen into the trap that there temporary condition was a permanent one; that God was nowhere to be found and that this Moses fellow had sold them a bill of goods and that they were all going to die.  Most important of all – they had forgotten God’s promise that they were on their way to a promised land full of milk and honey.

 

• They had forgotten how precious they were to God.  And so – it was easy to believe that they were easily expendable.  And, because they were so easily expendable, they started to believe they had no purpose.

 

• And so – they were on the verge of despair – feeling hopeless, abandon, and worthless.  And that is when people die.

 

So, literally, thank God – that God stepped in and did something about it.  Via Moses water was provided – but what was given was much more than just water.  It was hope.  And it allowed them to go on.

 

Now some will cynically say, “So what? That first generation of wilderness wanderers didn’t make it to the Promised Land!  Only their children did!”  And that is true – there was harsh price to be paid for those who consistently disobeyed and walked away from God.  In a way you could say they learned the hard way about what walking away from God too many times can mean.

            But – we mustn’t let that harsh truth blind us from the fact that ultimately that next generation did make it to the Promised Land.  And from this people ultimately came the savior of the world.  There were some harsh detours along the way – because God allowed Israel to suffer some consequences of their disobedience.  But ultimately – a remnant survived – and God’s purposes were fulfilled.  And we are here to tell the story and carry it forward.

I’ll repeat myself.  WE can too easily forget what life is all about, how we fit into the larger picture, and start to believe we are alone.  But if we can remember – if we can just remember – we are not the only ones to have ever thus despaired; we are not alone; and God will see us through if only we have faith in Him to do so – it will make all the difference in the world.

 

Some lessons we do have to learn the hard way.  But the lesson of the smitten rock in the wilderness is that some seemingly rock-hard obstacles can by God’s grace become living water.  Theologians have long understood that the smitten rock symbolizes the living Christ that smitten for us provides life.

It’s an obstacle for many.  But for those who can believe its salvation.

Look around you.  There are people – thirsty people – who feel alone and abandoned and hopeless.  You know that God is good and loving and ever willing to provide strength and love and hope.  Maybe in some small way you can help those thirsty people find a little something to drink.  And maybe, just maybe, the next time your faith fails - and you are thirsty – someone will do the same for you.

“Is God among us or not?”  Absolutely, He is.  So in spite of any temporary difficulty or doubt - let’s all take a long, lingering, deep drink of that good news.  And then let’s move on - to the Promised Land.

 

AMEN.

 

 

 

Sermon: "The Sixty-Four Dollar Question"

“The Sixty-Four Million Dollar Question”    

Text: Matthew 16:13-20

Elpis Christian Church

August 21, 2011

 

 

            Do you remember it?  It was called “The Sixty-Four Dollar Question,” and it was wildly popular.  Listen to how one researcher describes its origin:

 

“It had its roots in the CBS radio quiz show, Take It or Leave It, which ran from April 21, 1940, to July 27, 1947, hosted first by Bob Hawk (1940-41) and then by Phil Baker(1941-47). In 1947, the series switched to NBC, hosted at various times by Baker, Garry Moore (1947-49), Eddie Cantor (1949-50) and Jack Paar (beginning June 11, 1950. On September 10, 1950, Take It or Leave It changed its title to The $64 Question. Paar continued as host, followed by Baker (March 1951-December 1951) and Paar (back on December 1951). The series continued on NBC Radio until June 1, 1952.

On both Take It or Leave It and The $64 Question, contestants were asked questions devised by the series' writer-researcher Edith Oliver. She attempted to make each question slightly more difficult than the preceding one. After answering a question correctly, the contestant had the choice to "take" the prize for that question or "leave it" in favor of a chance at the next question. The first question was worth one dollar, and the value doubled for each successive question, up to the seventh and final question, worth 64 United States dollars.

During the 1940s, "That's the $64 question" became a common catch phrase for a particularly difficult question or problem. In addition to the common phrase, "Take it or leave it," the show also popularized another phrase, widely spoken in the 1940s as a taunt but now mostly forgotten (except in Warner Brothers cartoons). Chanted in unison by the entire audience when someone chose to risk their winnings by going for the $64 prize, it was vocalized with a rising inflection: "You'll be sorrr-REEEE.”

One final, humorous comment: the researcher adds wryly, “then they had the game show $64000 question and I guess with inflation it is now (the) 64 million dollar question.”

 

            Well today – whether you call it the sixty-four; sixty-four thousand; or sixty-four million dollar question – let’s just leave it as this: it is the most important question you can ask in life.  It’s found on the lips of Jesus of Nazareth.  And I just read it a minute ago.

 

“What about you?  Who do YOU say I am?”

 

Our world is filled with questions, many which seem to be unanswerable.  But this one, this one burning issue, continues to surface.  Who was Jesus of Nazareth?  Or, if asked from a Christian faith perspective, who IS Jesus today?

            Now there are some, many in fact, who might take this preacher to task today.  They would be quick to say, “That’s not a burning question at all – not for me!”  Atheist or agnostic, they would simply say “I don’t know – and frankly, I don’t care – I’ve got plenty of other fish to fry.”

            Well fair enough.  But as for me – I can’t think of a more important question.  I ask it every day, in one form or another.  Who is this Lord of mine?  What does he think about me?  What does he want of me?  What does he offer me?  What does he want me to offer others in his name?  On and on, the questions go on.  And they all come back to the issue of my declaration of faith in this mysterious fellow named Jesus.

            So often I am brought back in my mind to the comment that atheist turned Christian C.S. Lewis made about how there is one thing about Jesus, you can’t very well be neutral about him.  Given all he said and reportedly did, and the impact it has had on our world you are ultimately forced to do one thing or another.  You either have to decide he was a raving lunatic – or you have to fall on your knees and confess him Lord and Savior.  But a wishy-washy attitude of he was simply a great teacher – well, that just didn’t sit well with Professor Lewis.  He thought – as I do – that Jesus’ life deserves a more committed attitude from us than that.  And so – our scripture brings us to the question Peter and the disciples and millions more have faced – “Who Is Jesus?”  And how we answer that will change how we live every waking moment of our lives.

            Now some have chosen to answer this way:  “Jesus, oh, he’s my savior…uh, pass the catsup, please.”  What do I mean by that?  Well, just that for some they have decided to adhere to the intellectual belief that

 

1.      the Bible and it’s claims are true (though they don’t read it and don’t know it very well.)

2.      Jesus is, in fact, the Savior of mankind and anyone who says they believe in him gets a ticket out of hell and a pass to heaven, so – who would turn that down, right?

3.      that having made that decision about their eternal resting place they can pretty much forget all about it and get on with the really important stuff like lunch, so, “please pass the catsup.”

 

But for many more of us – for people like you and me – that’s not enough is it?  We want to know what difference it makes, not just for the future, but for today –this affirmation of Jesus as Lord and Savior.  And it is for us that I think this scripture is particularly important.  Because you see, it reminds us that living as a Christian impacts all of our decisions, day in and day out.  Or it should.  Our faith is not supposed to be neatly put into a little compartment that we just pull out on Sunday morning or at Christmas time.  It is to be our very life’s breath.  It is to inspire us, inform us, invigorate us, and send us out to DO something important for God.  That’s why I think it’s the “sixty-four million dollar” question.  And I think you believe that too – otherwise you wouldn’t get out of bed on Sunday morning and put on your best clothes and drag your children here when they would rather be watching cartoons or eating their cocoa puffs.  We get it.  We get that following Jesus, and learning every day how to be more like him, as best we can, is the burning question of our lives.  We get that prayer isn’t just for those who have secluded themselves on some holy mountain top – it’s for you and me – it’s the pipeline to talk to the Creator and Sustainer of the universe.  We get that opening our Bible regularly and trying to understand at least a little of what it has to say is really important.  We get that Jesus didn’t just die for us – he lived for us – and he wants us to live for him as well.  And living for him might call us into a wild, new, adventure when we least expect it.  Because Jesus didn’t just live a long time ago – he lives today – in some strange, mystical, but powerful way.

 

“Who do you say that I am?” is not a question asked and answered two-thousand years ago – only to be forgotten.  It is THE question for all humanity to ask and answer even now.

 

And how you answer it makes a difference in what you do at home; how you raise your children; what decisions you make at work; what you will and will not do to make money; what you will do with your money once you have some; whom you will spend your life with; what books you will read or not read; what movies you will let your children watch or not watch; what you will do when you see that beggar on the street; whom you will vote for and why; how you will speak; how you will listen;  whether or not you will love those who think or look differently than you do; and whether or not you will love others in real, tangible ways - even those who hate you with a passion.  These are the issues – and a thousand more – that are impacted by your answer to Jesus’ question “Who do you say I am?”

            For me the answer to Jesus is simply “You are my Lord and my savior, my God, whom I will follow every day of my life.”  And that means I can’t decide I know it all; I can’t decide I’ve read the Bible enough; I can’t decide I will never change my mind again – I have to decide instead that as I listen and hear the still, small, voice of God guiding me – I will do my best to follow and do what he tells me to do.  You may answer Jesus’ question differently –but I pray you answer it daily.

            And by the way – just as an aside, when you get stuck in this process – I think another question is a good one to ask as well – it’ll get you moving again.  It’s the follow up question to “Who do you say that I am?”  It’s “What would Jesus do?”

            One other thing about that game show - it had to go off the air because it turned out to be rigged.  That’s the way the world is.  It so often appears to be one thing and turns out to be something far uglier and false - but not so with Jesus.  He’s real; he’s authentic; he can be trusted.  And there isn’t a single question you might have that he isn’t willing to hear and answer for you.  The answer might not always come in the form you want or expect – but I believe, one day, it will come.

            This next week, ask the “sixty-four million dollar” question.  Ask yourself who Jesus is.  And ask how you can grow closer in your walk with him.  It’ll be worth a whole lot more than money.  It’ll make all the difference in the world. The world is full of questions.  And we have the answer to the most important one of all.  Isn’t that great? 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes...it's all about faith.

 

"The Choice" by Sean Kennedy

Hello! It’s been about 6 weeks since my last entry, and I wanted to take a few lines and apologize for the delay. It wasn’t from lack of trying, though. I have been on job interview after job interview since the New Year, and my tone of voice was coming out extremely formal. Nobody really wants to sound like an accountant, except maybe an accountant, and even that is debatable. So rather than bore you with my misuse of three syllable words, I kept at it until it sounded as close to normal as I am capable of. Long story short, I’m really glad to be back.  

 

 

Back in the days of warmer weather and plentiful sunlight, a little black bird perched in a tree outside of my back door. Occasionally, he would get stir crazy, swoop down, and crash into the clear glass. He would roll around on the ground for a minute, get his wits about him, and return back to the safety of his nest. About once a week, the little bird would try to permeate the glass by plunging into it beak first. In spite of a certain concussion and a probable broken bone, he’d take seven or so days to recover, and then again project him at the back door.  

 

When I applied to Lexington Theological, I knew the risk I was taking. I knew most of the people I had contact with, would be behind me, and I also knew some would not. With this in mind, I decided to keep my decision close to the vest, discussing it with a small group of people. I really didn’t want to make the phone calls if my application got delayed, or become a target for those who don’t agree. I enjoy discussion but I have had the conversation about dinosaurs in the Old Testament, and female lineage in Genesis about one more time than I can stomach. When I received notification of my acceptance on Monday, the response was just as I had expected; mostly slaps on the back, a few slaps in the face, and an even smaller few did the unthinkable, they de-friended me on Facebook (egad!).  At the end of the day, the angry may make the most noise, but the support group around me is more than sufficient to drown them out.

 

There is a group of friends that fall in between acceptance and alienation. These folks are supportive, whether they agree or not. I received a phone call from such a friend earlier today. I told him about my acceptance, and he thought I was kidding. He thought I was  playing a joke, and begin to list off all the mischievous misdeeds of my youth, like when I helped put the high school up for sale; or convinced everyone I was half-Korean, half-Cuban, and thus a full Canadian (nobody can read a map anymore). Apparently, I had used up all of my truth capital by the time I was 15. After several futile attempts to convince him of the truth, it finally sunk in. He said, “But, you question everything.”

 

At first, I was going to dive into a discussion of how “question” and “doubt” are not synonymous. I rethought this, however, considering I surround myself with people much smarter than me, and I held back.  My thoughts drifted back to the little black bird. I told him about the bird banging on my door. Like that bird, I have run into that glass door more often than I ever admit. After pressing my head against it enough times, there is no doubt it is there. I can still see my nose print on the glass. For me, I explained, there are two options. I can keep running into the door until it shatters; all the while, dodging shards to avoid hurting myself and picking up pieces to avoid hurting someone else. Or, I can open the door. That is what I did, I told him, I opened the door.    

 

I put the receiver down and looked out the window to where the bird once perched. If he returns this summer, I will keep watch for his headlong thrust into the glass, and I will slide the door just enough for him to fly through. I understand it is hard to open a door with wings, and now he has two options. The rest is up to him.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"The Code of the Jelly Bean" by Sean Kennedy

It was about this time last year; I made a discovery on the nature of the Christmas season. Unemployment had taken a toll on my relationship. Our roles were reversed, with Sheena picking up more students to cover the lost income and me changing more diapers and learning to use the oven without catching the house on fire. The role reversal provided a bigger challenge than either of us were expecting. Inadequacies by both of us were felt as she spent more time out of the home and I sat in remorse about the situation that placed us here. Coupled with this stress, the job search was humiliating. You throw yourself into the job market, and expose a lifetime of experience and errors for the entire world to evaluate. I’ve often likened it to speed dating completely naked. And when the phone doesn’t ring, or another rejection letter is received in the mail, feelings of insecurity and inadequacy are only reinforced.

 

It is here, lost in the coldest winter I can remember, that I was found. Through a friend, I was notified of a program called “Soles 4 Souls.” This is not for profit organization that collects slightly used shoes for disaster victims. The earthquake in Haiti had left thousands of feet without protection, as inhabitants climbed over the crumbled remains of what was left of their workplaces and homes. “Soles 4 souls” was a program developed to fulfill this need.   I mentioned it to my friends at Elpis and a few other churches in the area. The enthusiasm and generosity I encountered was infectious.  I left church after the first morning of collection and the outpouring of generosity had me completely uplifted. I packed up a sandwich and grabbed a handful of jelly beans, and set out to get my hair cut and oil changed.

 

On the way, to my first stop I received a call from Judy, a contact I had made at a neighboring church. I can still feel the joy in her voice as she told me about the 300 pairs that were waiting for me. I was pretty perky from the service and my friends at Elpis, Judy’s undisguised enthusiasm this sent me over the top. I was not surprised about the giving nature of the people I met, what surprised me was the spirit with which each donation was made. These two groups of people are thousands of miles away from each other; faceless strangers in a world of faceless strangers; separated by an ocean, a government, and a culture; yet united by the one universal truth, God’s love. Grace is not limited by geographical boundaries. The giving I witnessed was remarkable by its own accord, but the response to giving is emblematic of the Spirit. The wind of enthusiasm had now caught my sails as well. I may have even done the Snoopy dance while I was driving (It is okay. Nobody saw me.)

 

I was still giddy when I stopped in the Hair Cuttery to see Monet. She had just gotten back from an extended stay in Thailand, and in great spirits. She smiled as I walked through the door, “All my friends are coming to see me!” Her enthusiasm did nothing but maintain my momentum.

 

I went into Jiffy Lube to get my oil changed. I walked in and saw the woman’s face behind the desk. Her jaw was slightly lowered, and her face was long. Her eyes looked like she was longing to be somewhere else. Any other day I may have just exchanged a kind hello with her, any other day I may have just had a quick passing thought about her plight, but this was a new day, and on this day, I was unstoppable. I crossed the threshold and she slowly looked up from her introspective gaze. I raised my finger, “Hang on. I have something for you.” I ran out to my car and grab the bag of Jelly Belly’s I had been snacking on in my travels. I put the bag on her desk, “You look like you needed these.” Her face lit up immediately.

 

“Why,” she asked.

 

“You looked a little down, and I figured who doesn’t like Jelly Beans,” I popped one in my mouth and winked, “I think that one was watermelon.” For the next 15 minutes we sucked on the sugary snacks and she flitted around the office. The woman I saw when I entered was gone, and she was replaced a renewed one wearing the same body. It was only a jelly bean, a little smaller than a dime, and probably didn’t cost more than a penny. This little Jelly Bean, however, had more value than a dollar bill. Given from a concerned stranger, who cared enough to make her day better it was worth ten times its weight in gold. In her joy, I found joy. In her happiness, I experienced happiness.

 

I had discovered the secret to life, I thought to myself.  In giving, I had received more happiness than could even be imagined. There was no other way to live from this point on. I even named this new philosophy. From that point on I was to live my life by the “Code of Jelly Bean.” We go through life and it is take, buy, can I afford this, and I want that. We take our wages and turn them over into watches, video games, and dancing toys. Not a single one of those was as valuable as a smile. Not a single one of these could bring me as much happiness as what I had given away.  Words were bursting out of my mouth. I raced home and told the story of the Jelly Bean probably a dozen more times. I didn’t want to keep this inside, an idea this grand had to be shared; a concept this immense had to be given freely to anyone within earshot. Besides, keeping something this good inside would be completely against the Code. I even developed a few auxiliary principles to be included in the code. For example, a jelly bean never lies, but sometimes a cherry might look like a cinnamon. Or, a jelly bean in the hand is worth two in the bucket. Give it away and it is worth the whole barrel. I think it was probably the 16^th retelling the tale of the Jelly Bean, it may have even been my Dad, told me “Sounds to me a lot like the Holy Spirit.”  I leaned back in my chair, and bit my lip. He was right. And this gift is so good it has to be shared.

 

This year, when we are waiting for the malls to open and standing in checkout lines, trying to decide between neckties and necklaces, just remember the true nature of the Holy Spirit. I, for one, have only one thing on my list this year. On Christmas morning I’m looking forward to a stocking full of jelly beans, and I plan on giving the same.     

 

 

 

"The Power of the Present" by Sean Kennedy

As one month ends and another begins I get embittered in a pattern of watching my bank account fill up and then empty out again as a line of creditors knock on my door and collect their fair share. This happened to me again this week. I spent the better part of Monday and Tuesday pacing from my front door to the back, wearing holes in the carpet. I could feel the weight of the world sitting on my shoulders as I worry about the future, and prioritize between the water bill and kid’s Christmas. I wait for the phone to ring with a job offer or another credit card looking for a pay off. It was all noise, shouts coming from every direction and I was mute, powerless to fight back. I look to my experience for answers, rolling over thoughts between, “what did I do wrong,” and “what did I do to deserve this?” I put a humble meal, on our humble table, and sat with my daughter and said humble blessing. By the time I said Amen, I found the answer.

 

It is human nature to control their world. We wanted to get to the market so we learned to tame a horse. When we wanted to get there faster we built a car. We want to cook our food, so we build a fire. When our house burns down, we assume that it was our fault. There are two things we can not control, however. What was, and what will be are beyond our power. Our TV sets and movie screens are filled with fantastic tales of time travelers merging the past, the present, and the future in order to change their outcome. Here on earth, we have dominion over one thing and one thing only, the present. We can erase our mistakes just as much as we can guarantee the outcome. Both yesterday and tomorrow are beyond our jurisdiction. In this, we learn from yesterday, prepare for tomorrow, and build a better today; and we do all those things right now. We have to accept the fact that we can not control what we do not possess. In acceptance, we can find humility. In humility, we can find peace. Through the mercy of Christ, and through his guidance, peace is possible.

 

One afternoon, I was a little lazy and very late for an appointment. Instead of the toddler cup I usually gave my daughter, I handed her an Aquafina bottle and ran out the door. Everything looked like it was going well in the back seat, she was sipping from the top like a normal human. Before I knew it she had dumped her drink upside down. When I looked again in the rear view she had turned her cup back up and was trying to sip from the top again. She shook the bottle in my direction and shrieked louder and louder, until the her wailing crescendo into a ear piercing screech. It took me a second or two to figure out her dilemma. She wanted me to put the spilled water back into the bottle.

 

In life, I make these messes all the time. As much as I want to change some of the things I have done, as often as I try to repair the damage, I can’t. I can’t erase my wrongs any more than I can put water back into the bottle. All I can do is recognize the wrong, and pray for mercy for what happened, and the wisdom to not repeat it. In asking for forgiveness, I am accepting that the past is beyond my control. I am surrendering that  past, with my eyes lowered and my head bowed,  into God’s mercy.

 

In my arrogance, I didn’t see both sides of the equation. One can not surrender the past without surrendering the future as well.

     

 

 

 

 

 

The fact of the matter is, no matter how we try we can not control the future as the future does not belong to us. We want that control, we want that power, we want to believe that the benefits of tomorrow are ours for the taking. It is in humility, that we step back and realize that the right now is the only thing within our grasp. We prepare, plan, plot, organize, and execute in the present. The results are out of our control. When I was particularly overwhelmed at work, I had a supervisor tell me, “Sean, I want you to do all that you can do. Then, do a little bit more. Then clock out and go home.”         

 

 

After hours of pondering my situation, ruffling through my thoughts, organizing my ideas, flipping through books, through bibles, and through magazines, I found the answer sitting in front of me.  Just last week I wrote about humility. I wrote the words but didn’t adhere to the lessons in it.

 

I have turned over my past transgressions to Christ, looking for forgiveness. This mercy I gladly accepted, for if God can forgive my wrongs, then I can begin the process of forgiving myself. In this, I can understand the answer. One can not turn give the past without giving the future over as well. Both are in God’s providence.      

"The Lights of Advent" - A video from the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)

 

"Thanksgiving" by Sean Kennedy

We have several holiday traditions for my family, Thanksgiving dinner is no exception. It starts with the sporadic arrival of my brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, spouses, neighbors and friends congregating into the house at various intervals.  As soon as a quorum is reached (or the hunger pangs become unbearable, whichever comes first) we approach the table.  We gather with our mouths watering at the aroma of cooked ham and stuffed turkey floating from the kitchen. We stand around an empty table and hold hands in a circle. This begins with snickering, prodding, poking, and a few contests to see who can squeeze the others’ hand the hardest. My Grandfather clears his throat and tells my brother to remove his hat. This has become the annual command for everyone to quiet, and bow our heads. In that quiet instant between laughter and prayer, between hunger and food, standing hand in hand around an empty table, the nature of Thanksgiving can be witnessed. All of us come from different places in our lives; some are in college, some are working, some are unemployed, some are raising kids, and some are just glad the kids are grown. Regardless of circumstance, we gather together to give thanks for the blessings in our lives.  Before the cranberry sauce and collard greens, before the corn pudding and pumpkin pie, I peer into the essence of the holiday.     

 

On December 4, 1619, a small boat of English settlers landed at what is now Berkeley Plantation. Upon landing, the group of  38 Englishmen issued this proclamation: “We ordain that the day of our ships arrival at the place assigned for plantation in the land of Virginia shall be yearly and perpetually kept holy as a day of Thanksgiving to Almighty God." These men arrived from a distant land to find themselves surrounded by forests and swamps, threatened with malnutrition, and combating forces of nature that seemed just as foreign as the alien terrain. They survived a 70 day ocean voyage that was made even more laborious by a rash of frequent Atlantic storms, and when they finally hit ground along the shore on the James River, they prayed. Before the first survey of land, before the first deer was hunted, before they even knew where they stopped; they prayed. They prayed in thanks. One can’t help but wonder, why?  Thanks for what? They were starving, the land was unproven, and it was a Virginia December, complete with the cold and snow that accompany it. The voyage was longer than rationed for, and the rations they did have were barely edible biscuits and dried pork. In spite of all of these circumstances, they prayed in gratitude. It was not a request for what they didn’t have, but a prayer for the things they did. They gave thanks for the two things they carried with them from the Old World to the New, the two things that accompanied them on their journey, and the two things that sustained them through two months of hardship; health and hope. They arrived undernourished but still breathing. Health had brought them through the first leg of their journey, and hope would carry them the rest of the way.

 

Hope is an understatement, as hope itself is just an idea; riddled with uncertainty and wishful thinking. These thirty-eight men had more than an idea of the future; they had a belief in it. They had faith, and faith is unquestionable in the hearts of those who believe.

 

These early settlers brought something else with them from Europe, humility. The ideas of faith and humility are inseparable. To accept the gift of conviction, to accept hope, one has to also accept the maladies and pitfalls along the way. The nature of faith is the acceptance that some things are out of your control, both good and bad, and the willingness to accept it. “Submit before the Lord. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up” (James 4:10).  The first Europeans on Plymouth Rock provide an example of this.

 

In the fall of 1620, a group of religious separatists, today known as Pilgrims, faced a similar journey to the Virginians at Berkeley Plantation. After two attempts to leave port in England failed due to a leaky hull, the 102 men and women crowded aboard the “Mayflower” set sail across the North Atlantic in its most hostile season.  With the mast buckling and a major bolt jarred loose on one of the arms, these men and women, as William Bradford writes, “committed themselves to the will of God, and resolved to proceed.” On November 9^th of that year they reached New England. The first winter was treacherous for the new colonists. By spring, scurvy and malnutrition had diminished the number of settlers to 53. The ill-fated voyage should have met its end. The remaining few could have given in, they could have given up, but instead they stayed on. They pushed forward even after the winter forced them to bury their spouses and friends. William Bradford, an early Governor of and historian of the colony, reports that the survivors were burying two bodies a day. By spring the situation began to turn. The fields brought good yield, and the forests bloomed with wild game. They established and maintained a good relationship with the local Natives, who taught them to plant and fish. In faith they came to this New World, in faith they stayed, and in faith they reaped the bounty of that perseverance and conviction. They were willing to fight through the hardship, with the humility to accept that God’s will was at work in establishing this new life.

 

John Adams wrote of the nature of humility in his Thanksgiving proclamation. Our second president didn’t even call our current holiday by its modern name, referring to it as a “The Day of Humiliation” instead.  “In seasons of difficulty or of danger,” he wrote, “when existing or threatening calamities, the just judgments of God against prevalent iniquity, are a loud call to repentance and reformation.”

 

And now, nearly 400 years after the first Englishman broke bread on American soil, we still benefit from the lessons they brought with them.  The gifts of health, hope and humility are the centerpiece of celebration. Today, I stand flanked by the ones that raised me and the ones that sustain me. We gather hand in hand across an empty table and collectively bow our heads. We say a prayer, as our forefathers did years ago, and express our gratitude for the great gifts in our lives.  And in that, the empty table holds more blessings than it can hold.