A week ago I reflected on my brother’s death and funeral. Thank you for your prayers of support!

But now, I want to reflect a bit differently – on the funeral and the church. And perhaps there are some things for us, over 800 miles away, to learn.

The funeral was…interesting! It was held at a small Methodist congregation in Western NY, in the small hamlet of Protection. The church is on a side road, in what was once a more vibrant community. Today, only the church, several homes, and the township garage remain. The pastor served this congregation for many years, and now in retirement, was thinking of coming back, for the sake of the congregation. More on that in a moment.

Now, I’ve heard of funerals featuring an “altar call.” The preacher proclaims how you need to be saved, so come on down to the altar and make a commitment to Jesus. Not my theology, and certainly not my pastoral style. That’s not happening with me.

This pastor didn’t do that. Instead, he did a “church call.” Early in the service he said that two weeks earlier he had been in Florida, but then the church called – they had no one to lead Easter worship! He returned, and led worship for 40 on Easter Sunday. Now, he was trying to keep the church from being closed. And then came the “church call.”

“Yeah, I hope some of you will come and worship with us on Sunday morning. You know, I’d like to build up this little church, sort of resurrect it. So I hope some of you will come back. We could sure use you.”

I know the church is important, and as a pastor, I think I can relate at least a bit to the pain of seeing a church you have worked in for many years, slowly decline to the point of closing its doors. But really, in a funeral? Moreover, most at the funeral were not from the area. Who does he think is going to flock to this church next Sunday to keep it alive?

Yet, I really can’t bash the guy too much (for starters, his sermon wasn’t all that bad – hope in the crucified and risen Jesus was there). The fact is, he’s the not the only one who sometimes thinks that way. I know I do. I want to engage new folk, and welcome new members. I want to encourage people to grow in their faith and their discipleship. But sometimes I (we) miss the point – and badly. I begin to see my goal as enhancing the life of Our Savior’s, rather than the mission of Jesus, the Savior. I begin to see the maintenance of our community as more important than the work of Jesus through the community.

Oops!

So, listening to the “church call” I cringed – both for what he said, and for what I have sometimes thought (and maybe said too).

But let’s go back to the funeral and congregation. I noticed something else.

This small church is about three doors down from the house Mike and his ex-wife lived in and raised their children. For a number of years they attended the church, fairly faithfully, and made sure the kids went to Sunday School there.

Then, the marriage ended. They all went their own ways, and the house was sold. Mike moved to Michigan for several years, and when he returned, he was in another community. His ex-wife moved north about 20 miles, and his children went their ways as well. The closest is about ten miles away; the furthest is in Oregon, but she’s been to Chile and even Cuba for a while (seriously!)

About two years ago the closest child had her newborn baptized there. Other than that, however, there has been no involvement by any of them in that congregation for 15 years. Long enough to be removed from the membership rolls, as they should be.

But not long enough to be outside the mission field. For when my niece needed make funeral arrangements, she reached out to them – and with an awesome display of (God’s) grace, they welcomed them back. Welcomed them back to use the building for a worship service, with the pastor presiding (left me free to be family!), and even to use the lower level for a lunch. And since it was a bit chilly that day (in the low 40’s), the heat was on…along with the lights…“dirt and grime” was tracked in…and at least a bit of wear and tear on the building.

And so it was that they did their mission. In a congregation that may not survive, they were still able to fulfill, for that day at least, their mission and ministry. They opened themselves up to a crowd of strangers, probably none of whom (much to the preacher’s dismay) will ever return. A mission that will do nothing to sustain the congregation and help them keep the doors open. A mission that will not serve them in any way. Yet, a mission that responds faithfully to the call to discipleship.

I’ve preached and proclaimed this before – that our mission and ministry is not about us, it’s about being faithful to what God calls us to do. It’s about doing “God’s work with our hands,” for God’s sake, and the sake of the world – not ours. Or to put it another way, God’s mission is not to simply keep our doors open. God is up to much more than that!

What was different this time was being on the receiving end of that ministry, of being the one to whom others reached out. For this one moment, I could be the recipient of “God’s work, their hands.”

These are challenging and stressful days in the church. We struggle sometimes with numbers, and we forget sometimes that God is up to so much more than just our survival. God has a mission in the world, and we are called to a small part of that mission. That’s our calling as faithful disciples of Jesus.

So perhaps this is a good witness and model for us – a small community of faith, unsure if they will even survive, but quite sure of their calling on one cold, gloomy Saturday. Can we be like them?

And perhaps too it is a reminder that God’s call to each of us, in the midst of our daily lives, is to a mission that is not about us, but about people – God’s people – wherever we encounter them. Sometimes in small ways, sometimes in ways that seem to have little or no payoff, yet always putting people – God’s people – first.

So, thanks to the folks at South Protection United Methodist Church. You were there for us – you were faithful – and you may not realize it, but you are great witnesses!

Two weeks ago I reflected a bit on my Dad’s death. Made sense since it was Tuesday of Holy Week, and Good Friday, with the cross of Jesus, was 72 hours away. But then came Easter, and we could put all that death stuff behind us. We gathered for worship, we un-buried the alleluias, we sang with gusto (and brass), and all was well. Really well!

Until Easter dinner was done. Then, my sister called – my younger brother had died Easter morning. And death was back in business!

Mike was only 52, and although not expected, it wasn’t really a big surprise. His health hadn’t been the best over the years. Still, we were a bit stunned. In the aftermath of Easter morning, even as the wonder and glow of the day still surrounded us, we suddenly needed to get our balance and figure out what was next.

Mike’s funeral was held this past Saturday, in New York. An interesting experience, with something for us a congregation to ponder. I’ll get to that in my next reflection. But first, Mike.

Mike was, shall we say, a bit rough around the edges. He had scraggly hair, and an unkempt beard. His clothing was tough and worn. He wasn’t all that culturally “smooth,” and had an abundance of tattoos. He didn’t graduate from high school, and loved both chewing tobacco and beef jerky.

A number of years ago, when we were living in Michigan, Mike lived with my mother for a while. One afternoon I was outside the church chatting with another pastor from the community. Mike walked by, and she casually said, “That’s a scary looking creature.” I said, “I know…he’s my brother.” As she tried to get her foot out of her mouth, I said, “No, you’re right. He is scary looking. But perfectly harmless.”

In Mike’s defense, he really had a tender heart, deep down inside. Mike and my daughter were buddies, and Mike loved to stop by and chat with Pastor Jean’s dad (an old, conservative farm boy from Nebraska). And when Jean and I were married, in 96 degrees, in an un-airconditioned church, it was Mike who thought to bring us a tray full of water glasses while we sweated out the photography session.

And Mike was creative, with the gifts of an artist and a craftsman as he worked with brick and rock before his health began to fail.

Rough around the edges, and a bit scary looking – but also soft-hearted, thoughtful, and creative. And maybe then, just a bit more normal than we might imagine. In the end, perhaps Mike simply mirrored a bit of all of us.

And so back to Easter morning. In worship, we gathered – almost 500 strong. We were dressed in our Easter best, ready to praise God and give thanks for the victory of the empty tomb. Good church folk, all of us.

Mike was not there, or in any other church. We did not know it at the time, but Mike was already gone. But no matter, I am fairly certain he wouldn’t have been in church anyway.

It’s easy for us – and for me as both a pastor and a brother – to see the divide between Mike and those who are “rough around the edges” (saw a few of those at his funeral), and ourselves. We are the church crowd, the worshiping community, those who have an investment and commitment in what God is about in our world. Easter is for us. And so we were there, looking really good, singing sweetly, and basking in the light of the resurrection.

But remember what this celebration of Easter is about. My Easter sermon this year lifted up what the Easter story proclaims – not the dynamics of the resurrection, but the encounter with the risen Jesus. You know, Jesus – glowing with the wonder of Easter.

Or not.

I wonder for a moment what Jesus was like on that first Easter. He’s been down for several days. Bed head? Maybe a bit gamey, desperately needing a shower. And remember, they put him into that tomb right off the cross. Bloody and beaten up. Hey, this is no pretty sight. Actually, a pretty scary sight, if you ask me!

But what do we imagine we see? We picture a Jesus who is, well, “picture perfect.” Every hair in place, with nice clean clothes (no wrinkles either!) The Jesus of Easter morning is immaculate, well groomed, and even without the spices and ointments the women never got to use, he smells great. After all, isn’t that what the resurrection should provide?

And yet, a week later, in a locked room, Jesus will confront Thomas (the guy with all the doubts) and challenge him to see that in resurrection, Jesus is still the one with all the wounds – and flaws – of the one who was crucified (John 20:24-29). In short, the resurrected Jesus is a scary sight, the beaten and broken one. Resurrected and restored, to be sure, but human and real nonetheless.

Just like Mike. Real hurt, real pain, a real life lived with lots of rough spots.

So, here’s my point. We picture the Jesus of Easter as connecting with the good, clean church crowd. Like most of us. And he does. You and I need Jesus desperately. Jesus dies on the cross, and rises again for you and for me.

But what of the “scary crowd?” What of those who really don’t look like they belong in our nice, comfortable middle class church experience? What of those who look like Jesus might have looked, you know, like “death warmed over?” And what of those who didn’t wake up early on Easter to join in worship?

You don’t suppose, do you, that the Jesus who “looked a bit scary” came for the sake of those who “look a bit scary?”

I do. And these days I really do. Because for me its personal. It’s the reminder that Jesus came for me. And for Mike.

And perhaps, as I ponder my brother and all his flaws, but then think of who I am and all I imagine that I am, in the end Jesus came for Mike, but Jesus really came for me. Because I’m the one who is pretty convinced I’m just fine. I’m the one who is “full of myself,” and maybe less full of Jesus. That is me – a really scary sight!

So think about yourself – and the people you know. Think of the scary sights you see in others, and in the mirror. And know that Jesus died and rose for all the scary sights in the world, wherever you might see them!

Like many, I would like to wish you a happy Easter, and while I really do, I really can’t.  Not yet.  We’re not there quite yet.

I write this shortly before our 1:30 Good Friday worship service.  We worship again this evening at 8 PM with the Service of Tenebrae, one of my favorites.  During Tenebrae we hear the story of the passion and death of Jesus, along with reflections from other passages in Scripture, while the lights and candles are slowly extinguished.  We end in darkness.

Not quite what we want – we really prefer the bright light and wonder of Easter.  And we will get there.  Just not yet.

And that’s important.  Our culture, our society, our humanness wants to rush right to the wonder and the glory.  Life, however, is different.  Life is filled with hurt, pain, brokenness, vulnerability, weakness, and failure.  Most of all our failure to live as God calls us to live.  The cross is God’s response, and as wondrous as it is, it’s not a pretty sight.  The horror and suffering of the cross is repulsive.  We want to look away, but we can’t.  We can’t because this is reality – and in the end, it is life!

So for the moment, the crucified Jesus is – and must be – front and center.  That is today.  Good Friday.

But there is more.  The crucified Jesus is also the risen Jesus of Easter.  That’s an important part of our faith.  Jesus crucified is Jesus risen!  And there is the wonder and mystery of what God is about – that in death Jesus brings life, and in his resurrection, Jesus destroys the power of death once and for all. 

In the end, we need Good Friday.  We really do! 

But we also need Easter.  We really do!

I hope you will find some time this day to ponder on the crucified Jesus, on God’s gift that overcomes all that  is wrong in our world, in our lives, and in ourselves.  Worship is a great place to start – come and experience the Tenebrae.  But if that’s not possible, at least take a few minutes in your own space to reflect and give thanks.

And then, watch for the light of Easter morning.  The light of the risen Christ who meets us, calls us by name, and lifts us up to new life (John 20:1-18 – spoiler alert – that’s what I’m preaching about Easter morning!)  Know that it is the crucified and risen Christ who frees you from the crummy stuff of life, even from death.  And it is the God of grace who makes all this happen, who embraces and welcomes you again and again.

FINALLY…take a peek at a brief message from Bishop Eaton of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.  You can access her message here:  https://community.elca.org/emailviewonwebpage.aspx?erid=28e9cfb7-1d63-4e70-9f97-45952af34173&trid=28e9cfb7-1d63-4e70-9f97-45952af34173.

So, as we approach the cross and see the crucified Christ, as this day slowly turns and ends in darkness, as we ponder and reflect on life and Jesus, keep watch out of the corner of your eye…

And then, as Easter comes upon us…

Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!  Alleluia! 

It’s Tuesday. Tuesday of Holy Week. We’ve passed Palm Sunday, and now we wait. We wait for the climax of our faith as followers of Jesus. Really, there is nothing bigger than the end of this week, a time we call the “Triduum,” or “the Three Days.” Maundy Thursday – Good Friday – Easter!

So Tuesday – a day of anticipation – expectation – and waiting.

But for me, this day has another meaning. Twenty-two years ago, on the Tuesday of Holy Week, we held the funeral for my Dad. In 1997 Holy Week was in March, but it was Tuesday of that week. Just like today…

A funeral on Tuesday of Holy Week has lots of significance. We are between the short-lived exuberance of the Palm Sunday, and the passion of Good Friday. Kind of like life. We live a life that bounces from temporary joy, to deep and profound grief. Yet, like Holy Week, we do all that with an eye to what is to come, to the empty tomb of Easter. There, in the victory of the resurrection, we are embraced by the unexpected and un-imagined victory over death, the victory that turns our world on its head and restores life, this time to its fullest.

Ironically, my Dad’s last sermon, written as a short devotion for Palm Sunday, to accompany the reading of the passion story, and never delivered, said just that. We hear the story of Palm Sunday and the “Hosannas,” followed by the suffering and death of Jesus.

But back to Holy Week, 1997. Dad died on Friday. Friday night was a short night of sleep. Too much, just too much.

When morning came (way too early), I woke with a tune in my head. Rod Stewart’s “If We Fall in Love Tonight.” The album of the same name had been released the previous November. Not a big hit, but it was out there. And that morning, it was all around – or at least around me.

Pain, flows like a river, just keeps on livin’

with all them memories

Shame, you’re so heartbroken

now you’re scared to open and give your love again

And now anticipation waits for love

Will it be everything you dreamed this time around

I know you have your doubts

but I won’t let you down

Darlin’ if, if we fall in love tonight

you’re gonna be alright

your heart is in good hands

Darlin’ if, if we fall in love again

on me you can depend, if you could take a chance

Open your heart and let love, love again

[Spoiler alert – it made for a great Easter sermon that year!]

Think about it. Imagine these words. Imagine them spoken by a loving God, a God who in the midst of this week, is about to make his move, the move that will change humanity for ever. Yet, at the same time, in the midst of this week, a God who is hurting, yearning to bring life to his children, to embrace them even in the midst of their brokenness.

So, hear the words, spoken to you.. .“Darlin’, if we fall in love tonight, you’re gonna be alright…your heart is in good hands.”

I heard those words 22 years ago. In the midst of my grief, my pain, my emptiness. Stunned and in shock, there was the promise. The promise that even as my world was shattered, God was there, embracing me and restoring me to life.

“Darlin’ if, if we fall in love again on me you can depend, if you could take a chance. Open your heart and let love, love again.”

There, in those words, is the point of this week. From the passion to the cross, and then to the victory of Easter, God is at work. And the God at work makes a promise. God promises that you will be all right.

Even in our brokenness, even when we are scared and overwhelmed, wondering where we can find hope, God acts…God restores…and God speaks – “I know you have your doubts, but I won’t let you down…on me you can depend.”

I learned the truth of that 22 years ago. I heard those words, spoken to me in the midst of my sorrow, in the shadow of the cross and in sight of the tomb. I also heard those words, spoken to my Dad. The promise that through the cross and empty tomb, there is “nothing in life or death that can keep us from God’s love in Jesus Christ” (Romans 8:38-39).

But since then I’ve learned two other truths. First, that I’m human, and again and again, I lose the truth, the truth that I’m going to be all right, that God will not let me down.

Second, the truth that my heart continues to be in God’s hands, even when I’m being very human.

And that too is what this week is about. Yes, God is at work in Jesus, in the cross and the empty tomb. God is changing the world, renewing and restoring life.

But God is also holding my heart in his hands. Even when I’m not so sure, even when doubts seem to overwhelm me.

And not just me. You too. Do you hear the words, words spoken to you, from the cross, at the entrance to the tomb? “Darlin’, if we fall in love tonight, you’re gonna be alright…your heart is in good hands.”

Listen to those words. Spoken to you. Spoken to me.

Twenty- two years ago, spoken to my Dad.

I know, it’s been a rough winter, especially the past two months. Since January 14^th (yes, I can date it – our January council meeting was postponed because of ice), the weather has been, as the song says “frightful.” Really!

Finally, of course, winter has broken, the sun is higher in the sky, the temps are up, and it’s all melting. Can’t get any better than that…can it?

Of course, it can’t. Except for the flooding in the lower level of the church (and in a lot of basements in the area), not to mention the flooding of farms, fields, and whole towns across the Midwest. Or the potholes (have you seen how many giant potholes are out there this year???) Or just the plain, dirty snow. Yeah, I get it – we want to see the snow melt, but at best, it’s an ugly sight. And at worst, it’s downright dangerous!

But there is something else going on out there. As the snow melts and the mud rises, it’s out there – on the horizon. Look carefully, and there you can see it. The cross. The cross of Jesus.

This is the season of transition – from winter to summer. A season of water and mud that takes us from the lifelessness of winter to the new life of summer. From snow drifts to fields of corn and soybeans, from icy streets and sidewalks to lawns just waiting to be mowed.

Yet, in the church we are also in a season of transition. That’s what Lent is for us – a time that moves us from one time to another. Throughout the weeks of January and February we lived in the hopefulness of Epiphany. Week after week we experienced God at work in the miracles and teaching of Jesus, stories that warmed our hearts, and gave us hope that somewhere, somehow, God could and would restore life. Good stuff, to be sure. But let’s face it – we need more than that. Life is tough, we are vulnerable, and something needs to happen – something that will be new, fresh, and life changing. Something that will turn winter to spring to summer. Water to wine, an evicted demon or two, and good “dos and don’ts” are fine, but leave us short. Winter doesn’t shake easily!

But remember, we are in a season of transition. Times are changing! The journey of Lent moves us from February through March to April. While we move, we walk with Jesus to Jerusalem – and then even beyond. And as we walk, we “transition.” From hopefulness to fulfillment.

As Lent comes to a close we find ourselves at the foot of the cross. The cross, the place where God no longer dabbles in mere miracles and teachings, but gets serious, really serious, and does the improbable and unexpected. God turns it all upside down. In the death of Jesus, God takes our fears, uncertainties, vulnerabilities, and brokenness – all the stuff that makes up our “winter.” God places them on the crucified Jesus, and in exchange God gives us the righteousness – that is, the “right relationship with God” – of our Lord. In that new “right relationship” God fulfills the hopes, the hopes from way back in our winter, and makes a new thing happen. God brings forth life, full and rich life.

And the transition is complete! Lent has moved us from hope to life.

So, now what? OK, this isn’t just about a time on the calendar. Over and over, regardless of the time of day, day of the week, or where we are in the calendar year, we move from hope to life. And in the gift of life, experienced new, pretty much every day, we live differently. Every day we look around ourselves, we see God at work in the world about. We see the opportunities we have to do “God’s work with our hands,” because in the cross we have been moved from winter to summer. In the cross we have life, life that we are called and privileged to share with others – with co-workers, neighbors, friends, strangers, maybe even adversaries.

What’s the point? The new season, the new life, empower us to be something we could never imagine we could be. I’m not sure I could really ever be a disciple of Jesus. Yet, the power of the cross, the power of life that is beyond imagination, the power that changes me and my world upside down, that power creates something new in me. Me – flawed, broken, vulnerable, fearful, and even sinful. Me, yes me – I can be a disciple of Jesus. Not because of me, but in spite of me. No because of me, but because of Jesus.

That, to me, is an awesome concept. Really? God uses me? Yes – everyday!

And God uses you. Yes – everyday!

So keep looking ahead to the cross. There, in the cross, you have been brought out of winter into the life of summer. You are embraced by a gracious God. You are welcomed, you are loved, you are made whole. And then, having been restored with new life, you are sent out into the world to be God’s agent, to do “God’s work with your hands.”

How cool is that?

So keep on moving, through these days of Lent, all the way through these times of transition. All the way to the cross. And there, where the winter melts away, new life springs forth. For you, for me, for the world, the world dearly loved by a gracious God.

So, are you ready for Part 2?

After weeks of government shut down over “the wall,” this evening promises renewed drama with the State of the Union address. The predictions are that immigration and the “the wall” will be prominent.

Now, I am fully aware that this has become a very contentious issue, both on the left and the right. It stirs strong emotions on both sides of the political spectrum.

Moreover, I am also fully aware that I am not a “policy wonk” when it comes to immigration issues. I don’t know all the facts, I am not a security expert, and I as far as a wall is concerned, I am here, not there. I don’t have any first hand knowledge or experience, either way.

Finally, I am aware that secure borders are important, and that safety is a priority. I get all that.

But I also get immigration – personally. My daughter is an immigrant, born in Russia. Yes, she entered the country legally, with all the attendant paperwork in order (there’s a story behind that – ask me sometime!)

And then…looking in the mirror every morning…I see immigration in another light, Long ago, over 150 years ago, my great (or great- great, depending on which side of the family you are looking at) grandparents were immigrants from Germany. I am an American, but once my family was not. They were immigrants looking for a new life and a new future. And while Pastor Jean can claim a bit of native blood (she is 1/16th Eskimo), she too counts immigrants – many of them – in her past as well.

The fact is that most of us, maybe all of us, trace our roots back through immigrants. We all have a story that includes seeking out a new home, with a new future, and a new hope. We all have family who, long ago, sought a better life, freedom from persecution, and a chance to live differently. And we are the beneficiaries of their boldness, of their willingness to risk it all to move to a new land, with a new culture, and usually a new language as well.

It is in that light that I have pondered the gospel reading from this past Sunday. I read the text n worship, but I preached on 1 Corinthians 13. The gospel was from Luke 4:14-30. The story actually began the week before as we read the first part. Jesus, the local boy who has become a bit of a sensation as a traveling rabbi, has returned to his hometown of Nazareth, and has shown up in the synagogue to worship. As was their custom, they asked someone to read and reflect on the words of Isaiah – and with Jesus in town, they asked him to do the honors. Jesus read the text, and began to speak. All were amazed “at the gracious words” which flowed from his mouth. So far, so good.

But in the second part of the story, which we read this past Sunday, things go south, and pretty quickly. Jesus challenges their expectation that as a local boy, he will do great things for them because, well, he’s one of them. Sort of a “hometown bonus.” He reminds them of several examples from the Old Testament, where God acts, but not on behalf of the local crowd. Instead, God acts in the lives of foreigners, even immigrants. That causes an immediate, and pretty ugly response. They grab Jesus, and escort him to the edge of town – built on a cliff – and prepare to eject him the painful way – one step, off the cliff!

Doesn’t happen, of course. The story ends with Jesus mysteriously, miraculously, slipping through the crowd, unnoticed. One wonders how they figured it out, and how they reacted when he disappeared in their midst, but that’s a story for another day.

For now, we have Jesus, off to continue his work, but not among his own people. Off to teach, to heal, and in the fullness of time, to embrace the cross and the empty tomb.

So what’s the point of this kind of weird story? Luke is building a case that the gifts of God through Jesus are not confined to “our own kind.” God’s care for humanity is not bounded by borders or citizenship. God doesn’t care about walls or green cards or visas. And as hard as this is for us sometimes, God is not an American!

The message of scripture, again and again, is that God is a God of all people, and that when any people begin to imagine that God is theirs, that God belongs to them, they are sorely disappointed. God is God of all!

The people of Nazareth weren’t the first to misread God’s presence in their lives – the Old Testament is full of stories of God’s people expecting special privileges. Just like we sometimes imagine that we are a “chosen people,” with God firmly our corner. As if we no longer belong to God, but God belongs to us, and God really needs us – badly!

In fact, our history as Christians suggests that again and again we need to be reminded that God is not ours. And perhaps that is part of the devious nature of sin and evil – to attack us, not by leading us to push God aside, but instead to grab a hold of God as if God is ours, and in the process, to make God our own tool, to do what we want when we want it. In short, to take God’s place and be gods ourselves!

OK, after all that, I do not propose that this gives us any instant, obvious answers to the immigration questions that face this nation (or any country, for that matter). Rather, I invite you to ponder what it means to understand God as the God of all peoples. Yes, we have a country, we have borders, we have laws. But we also have a God who calls us to be generous, and to love, even those who are different from us. A God who reminds us that while God is our God, God is also the God of the immigrants, those who we are sometimes temped to vilify and despise. Can we really do that even as we stand in the shadow of the cross of Jesus?

We can if we imagine that God belongs to us. We really can’t if we remember that we belong to God – and so do they!

So, sorry if this doesn’t make things a lot easier. But perhaps it will allow us to consider the debate and political drama in a different light, And perhaps as we wrestle with stories like these, engage in some prayer, and let the Holy Spirit run rampant through us, we just might begin to discern, not what makes sense, but what is faithful.

Christmas is almost here! And if you are like me, you are experiencing a mix of “got to get this done yet” and relief that we are almost done. These are days of wonder and joy, but also a bit of weariness!

So, let me offer you three things.

FIRST…take some time – make some time – to reflect on the Christmas gift – God in our world through the child of Bethlehem. Come and join us in worship…

Christmas Eve Worship
1:30 + 3:30 + 5:30 + 10 PM
The Magical Night – The Story and the Feast
We gather to hear the message of the angels,
celebrate with music,and share in the gifts of grace through
the sacrament of Holy Communion.

Christmas Day Worship
10 AM
The Baby in the Light of Day
Gathered together in the morning light, we see the grace of God
in our midst and rejoice in the birth of our Savior!

Really, this is about more than just being around for a special night or morning. This is about connecting with God in our midst, a God who hangs in there with us for a night, a morning, and then for the days…months…even years that follow.

So join us – or if you are elsewhere, join a worshiping community elsewhere. And if even that doesn’t work, then make a holy space of your own as you ponder and reflect on God at work in the manger, in the world around us, and yes, even in your own world. God at work through Jesus!

SECOND…take a few minutes and check out the Christmas message from Bishop Elizabeth Eaton of the ELCA. This year’s message is really worth your time! To see the video message, go to our web site (www.oursaviorswestsalem.org/). Down the home page, on the right side is a box – the link to her message is in the box!

THIRD…my own wish and prayer, along with Pastor Jean’s, for you and your family. Have a blessed Christmas, a wonderful New Year, and know that as you are embraced by a loving God at work in your life. Know too that you are sent forth to be a faithful disciple of Jesus every day, in every place, in momentous acts, and even in the simple acts of life.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!”

After the snowfall this past weekend, you just can’t miss it. Christmas is on the horizon!

Actually, you should have been able to see it anyway. The stores are decked out in holiday style, the music is everywhere, and the Salvation Army bell ringers are out in force. Christmas is here! Not to stay, of course, but for the next few weeks, it’s “the most wonderful time of the year!”

That means, of course, that it’s time to dust off the “Christmas spirit.” We live a bit differently, smile a little more, and rekindle our hope in our world and our future, for a while, anyway. And it works well for us, with New Year’s just beyond – the future beckons, and for a short while we can feel good and even have a wee bit of confidence.

So, enjoy it – enjoy it while it lasts, bask in the warmth and wonder, and soak it all in.

And then get ready – ready to embrace the new year, moving forward with confidence because, hey, 2019’s got to be better, right?

But that’s yet to come – four weeks to go for that. For now, it’s the Christmas prep hustle, in the midst of ever shorter days, and probably more snow and ice too.

Oops…forgot about that – snow and ice!

Yes, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. The white brightens our world, and adds that little bit of nostalgia as we think “Jingle Bells,” “Frosty the Snowman,” and “chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” After all, aren’t we all “dreaming of a white Christmas?”

Until you slip on the ice, and head to the ground. And remember, its not the fall that is particularly painful, it’s the sudden deceleration when you and the ground collide!

So, there you go – it’s looking a lot like Christmas, until the ice well hidden under the snow takes you down. Then it’s just another painful moment in the journey of a cold and dark winter.

But it is Christmas, right? That’s worth something, isn’t it? Sure it is. It really is. For another 21 days. And maybe a few more days after that. But then…then wrapping paper gets tossed, the cookies are reduced to mere crumbs, the music begins to get really old, the tree comes down, and the decorations are packed away.

As we turn the calendar to 2019, what’s left? Maybe a few pine needles in the carpet, a few too many extra pounds to lose, and a bigger credit card bill to pay. And the snow and ice.

Like I said, “it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…”

Now, don’t think I’m some kind of Scrooge…it’s December 4, and I have my Christmas shopping all done. How about you? I’ve got Christmas music playing, I just finished writing a drama about Christmas for worship on December 12, we ordered Christmas bulletin covers today, and now we are beginning to think through Christmas Eve/Day worship and sermons. We are immersed in Christmas!

And after all that, I’m really looking forward to worship on Christmas Eve. Yes, the music and decorations, the candlelight and carols, they all make for a wondrous, almost magical evening. Most of all, I’m looking forward to proclaiming the gospel, the good news of Jesus’ birth, and doing that in the midst of God’s people. Because in the end it’s the excitement and energy of the people of God who gather together around the manger that make the evening special. It’s Jesus – and you – that’s what I look forward too!

So, see, I am not a Scrooge!

But I am a realist. And I know that as wondrous as the season is, there is ice just under the gentle snowfall. Ice just waiting to take me down.

And I know that I can’t stop the clock. The season will end, and 2019, with all it promises – and threatens – is headed this way, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

In the midst of this time of wonder, I continue to find reasons – lots of them – for fear and uncertainty. From global tensions and conflicts, to the issues that challenge us right here in our own village. From the brokenness of the people around me, to my own moments of failure and vulnerability. From the things I know, to the things I don’t know, to the things I cannot share with others. All around, lots of “ice” under the snow, and unlike Christmas, this stuff doesn’t get packed away. This stuff, and even more, follows me right into 2019, even as Christmas gets left behind.

So, what to do? Ponder for a moment the magic of the “Eve” and “Day” that follows. Yes, music and decorations, candlelight and carols will make for a wonderful night and morning. None of that, however, will last. Like all the rest of the Christmas experience, it will embrace and fill us, but only for a moment. Then, when the moment is passed, it will all be packed away until next year.

But the story – remember the story? The simple story of something far from simple. The story of God breaking into our world. A story that begins with an ordinary looking child, born of a poor woman, lying in a the midst of a dirty barn. A child who is more than a child, but is revealed to be God’s presence in the midst of our cold, dark, broken world. And a child who in the fullness of time will act through the cross and the tomb to restore all of creation to the God who dearly loves it.

Yet this is also a story that speaks to us even today. In the child God’s work is not limited to a corner of the world 2000 years ago. The power and presence of the child turned Savior continues to break through the cold and ice, failure and brokenness even today.

But there is more to the story – we do not hear this story in a vacuum. We hear it in the midst of community, in the midst of others who are also broken, vulnerable, and frightened. Together we are embraced by the God who has sent the child. Together we are renewed and restored by the child’s work on the cross and empty tomb. Together we share with each other the hope and confidence we have in the child. And together we proclaim to a cold, dark, and broken world all that God has done – and continues to do – for creation.

So there it is. With three weeks to go, the snow and ice abound, the darkness grows, and sometimes the hope wanes just a bit. But I see the light – I see the star in the distance, hovering over the manger. And I know the child is there, waiting for me. Waiting to share the story, and to gather again the community of the faithful around me. Waiting to move us all forward into a new year. A year that will be blessed, not by luck or good fortune, but by God’s presence with us through the child who becomes our Savior.

And that is the best gift of all!

Have you noticed that its been a while – a long while – since I last shared a “reflections?” I did. It’s been since…I can’t remember. Sometime in early summer, I think.

So what’s that about? Life has moved forward. We’ve had disasters and tragedies, all sorts of brokenness in the world, and so many things begging to be understood in light of the cross of Jesus. Lots of material to work with. You’d think I would have had something to say, after all, it’s usually tough to keep a preacher quiet!

The easy explanation is some laziness- you know, take some summer time off. Maybe there’s an element of truth in that. But not really. The fact is, the summer was busy, packed, and a bit stressed. Lots of things were happening across the globe, and a few things even in my own little circle of life. Now, don’t jump to any wild conclusions. Nothing with any life and death implications, and nothing that I couldn’t handle. Just enough to divert my attention and wear me down a bit.

And so the weeks wore on and all of a sudden, it was early September, and I hadn’t written anything. The troubles of the world, however, continued. And then it occurred to me, I was really looking forward to the summer coming to an end. Really? The end of summer? Sure. Summer ends, fall begins. And then…winter…and finally, as promised, the new life of spring. So bring it on – bring the change of seasons, even winter upon us. Every day gets us one day closer to better days. And maybe in the midst of troubled times that works for more than just the weather. Maybe just gutting it through the coming months will bring us to new hope and new life. Maybe.

So I had it all figured out. Just write it. Some evening, a bit of free time, a little inspiration. It was already almost done. Simply put it down on paper.

It didn’t happen.

And then…I went apple picking yesterday. The end of the apple picking season (Shefelbine’s closes on Sunday). I figured we’d find at least a few apples left, and it would probably be worth our time. Wrong! There were apples, and apples, and apples. Here, only days before the end of the season, the trees were loaded with apples. Two trees – two trees! That’s all it took, and we had two half bushels. And we left a bunches of apples on those two trees.

The reason, of course, is that it was a really good year for apples. Yet, it was more than just a reminder of a bumper harvest. It was a sign, if you will. A sign of generosity and abundance, even as I have been feeling a bit drained and weary.

But “apples, apples everywhere” is also a reminder of God’s unexpected gifts of grace. I expected new life. I knew that God would act. But God action took me by surprise. I looked forward to new life in the coming of spring in another six months, God, however, wasn’t going to wait that long. Life, new life, life that is full, rich and abundant, is mine right now, even though the earth around us ready to lie dormant.

That’s the twist of God’s unexpected grace. God’s grace is always astounding. Grace is love we do not deserve. Yet, there it is – the love of God, in many ways, in many places, but most of all, God’s love in the crucified and risen Jesus. Love that comes even though we do just about everything we can to push it aside. Love that comes not because we have lived good, squeaky clean lives. Love that comes despite us. Love that comes in our worst moments, in our darkest days, and even when we wouldn’t (and many time don’t) love ourselves. That is grace – and that is an awesome thing to behold – God’s grace breaking into our world and embracing us, filling us with life.

But the twist – the twist is that God’s grace constantly takes us by surprise. We never see it coming. Think about it…God’s grace is an unexpected windfall, almost by definition. After all, if we don’t deserve God’s love, how can we expect it? And so even when we look ahead, thinking that in time, after we wade through difficult days and challenging times, that God will come through for us – eventually – that’s when we need to take a peek at the apples on the tree. To see the abundance of grace, of life, of hope. To see what God unexpectedly brings to us, but also to see that it comes when we aren’t, well, expecting it!

Isn’t that what the cross of Jesus is all about? Unexpected love? The cross – the place of bloody, violent, and shameful execution, becomes transformed into God’s instrument for new life and hope through Jesus. The world looks upon the cross and sees death and defeat. We look upon the cross and see life.

But we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. (1 Corinthians 1:23-24)

Yet, even though we proclaim the cross of Jesus, and we know it’s the instrument of life, we are surprised again and again. Or, in other words…”Never saw that coming!”

Perhaps that is the most wondrous aspect of God’s gifts of grace – that when God acts, we usually never see it coming. God acts by bringing into being “grace filled moments” that surprise us, moments born out of the cross of Jesus, moments that renew us just when we thought we that the barrenness of our lives was all that was left.

And so we come to the orchard. Even at the end of the season, on a cold, damp October morning, the trees are full, the apples are there.

Even in our dark, weary, tiring, stressed, and broken days, the cross is full, Jesus is there!

Pastor Jean, Rebecca and I are currently at the ELCA Youth Gathering in Houston, along with Cat Bottem and several of our young people. The Youth Gathering occurs every three years, bringing together 30,000+ young people and adults for worship, learning, fun, connecting, and service, from all over the country. Some drove, others traveled on charter buses, and still others flew. One way or another, they arrived on Wednesday, and will be here through Sunday.

As we have mingled, we’ve run into folk from all over – from Pennsylvania, Washington, and Florida. We rode the train yesterday with a crew from Holmen, and even ran into Pastor Bonnie Klos, from Our Savior’s, now serving St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Port Huron, Michigan – out of 30,000 people, there she was!

My favorite was the hug Rebecca got. Two guys came around with a sign that read, “Free hugs or fist bumps from Alaska.” They delivered!

So, what a wonderful event. Not much more to say!

Well, maybe a little. Not all was quite so perfect.

First, we had to get to our hotel. It’s Houston. We’ve never been here before. And there is lots of traffic.

The hotel? Nice place, but where’s the car going? Valet parking. Yeah, I know, I just like having my car outside my window, where I can get to it when I need something. At this moment I have no idea where my car is. A bit unsettling…

Then we took the train (that worked well) to meet up with the rest of the crew for dinner, but we had to walk a mile. In Texas heat.

With dinner done we headed over to NRG Stadium for the mass gathering. First we had to figure out what part of the blob of bodies in front of us was a line. We found the tail end of a strand of people, and joined them. And we stood…and we waited…and we stood… The line inched forward. We could see kids going up the ramps to the stadium, but only a few. They were checking bags. Every bag. Every bag from every one of the 30,000+. Through one gate.

Then, suddenly the line surged. Up on the ramps the few kids were now replaced by throngs. I guess they decided to give up on checking bags.

The sudden movement also meant,however, that when we finally got up the ramps into the stadium, it was just plain crazy. With no “tickets,” and no idea where to go we wandered until we ended way up in the upper sections with something of a view. But no matter, the noise, the vibration, and more that I will get to in a few moments, was still pretty intense. Too intense for Rebecca, so we headed off for the designated “quiet room.”

This morning we headed back for our “service day.” The gathering involves a “service day,” a “synod day,” and an “interactive fun day.” We do fun on Friday, and synod on Saturday; others did those things today.

Arriving at the NRG Center with 10,000 others we looked for our bus (number 55). There, we found ourselves in a group of 50, with kids from from Pennsylvania and Washington. We would head out when the coordinators gave us the word. And so we waited. We stood and waited. For 2 hours (2:09 to be exact), we stood and waited. Until the bus finally came. Then, off to an elementary school, where we stained outdoor equipment and cleaned up a garden. Summer school was in session, so kids were around (more on that in a moment too).

So, what’s my point here? Lots of standing, lots of heat, and a bit of disorganization. No, this is not a perfect event! Not even close!

But…remember the noise and vibration in the stadium during the mass gathering? That noise and vibration was accompanied by energy – lots of it. 30,000 kids pumped up and excited to be here to worship, learn, have some fun, connect with others, and serve. An imperfect event, filled with imperfect kids (and a few imperfect adults, like me), embraced by Jesus Christ and energized by the Holy Spirit. Kind of like the life of the baptized! For as baptized children of God, imperfect as we are, God still embraces us and energizes our service.

And the scene of 30,000+ young people getting all excited, really gives me hope. We live in a world where “church” is more challenging than ever. But seeing (and feeling) the energy and excitement renews my hope. Not because of the kids, but because of the power of the Spirit working in their lives. The church experience I grew up with might be changing, might even be gone. But Jesus is at work, the people of God are Spirit-led, and the church will continue. Not because, but perhaps in spite, of me!

But there’s more. Remember too our time at the school this morning. We saw children, walking to and from class, probably a bit bewildered by the strangers in their midst.

Then, as we were breaking for lunch, one of the teachers asked if some kids could come and share a bit of our story with their 5^th graders. I corralled two girls from Pennsylvania and their pastor to join me. The girls shared with the class our event, and our desire to serve. The class (and teachers) thanked us. Service, you see, makes a difference in the world. And the morning after 30,000+ energized the stadium, in a small corner of Houston we touched lives. Just like 200 other groups did in other small corners of Houston this morning. And another 200 on Friday, and another 200 on Saturday.

There you have it. Discipleship in a nutshell. Imperfection, the embrace of Jesus and the energy of the Holy Spirit, and the making of a difference in the lives of others.

So, take a peek in the mirror – look at imperfection (that’s you and me). Then ask yourself how you feel the embrace of Jesus, and sense the energy of the Holy Spirit. And finally, how did you make a difference today – and how can you do it again tomorrow.

Or, in other words, be a disciple!