Blessed

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(sermon 1/29/17)

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

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Several years ago I had to make arrangements for a wedding I was officiating. The couple really wanted to get married in our church, but some relative of the bride, and uncle, I think, was a minister in a Fundamentalist denomination, and she wanted him to have some role in the service. So I called him one morning to walk through the logistics of the service and tell him what part he could play in it. When he answered the phone I said “Hi Jim, how are you?” and he boomed back in a voice so loud I had to hold the hone away from my ear, “Oh, I’ve been blessed by the best!!!”

“Hm, well, OK, I’m glad to hear that. Listen, I was calling to talk to you about –“

“Yes sir, there’s nothin’ like wakin’ up every morning knowing you’ve been washed clean by the blood of the Lamb, brother, amen?!”

That was just the first amen; over the course of the next five minutes he peppered his speech with “amens” every five or six words, seemingly at random, in the same way that other people might say “um” or “so,” and so frequently that it lost all meaning, and all in that same booming, overly excited voice. And at the end of the conversation he repeated what he’d started with, “Yes sir, I’ve been blessed by the best!!!”

I have to admit that by the time the phone call was over, I was exhausted – and honestly, a little annoyed. Exhausted from just trying to get him to focus on what we really needed to be talking about, and annoyed because his manner of speech was just, well, annoying to me personally. In my world, normal, sane, rational people just don’t talk that way, at least not constantly. Now please understand, I’m certainly not questioning the sincerity of his faith here, or anything like that; it’s just that that manner of speaking seemed artificial, put on, over the top. And I probably shouldn’t say it, but there were several times during the call that in my head, I was thinking, “Stop. Really, just stop, or I will crawl through this phone and hit you.”

Eventually, the wedding went off just fine, and when I met him in person, Jim was a very nice At the wedding, we even joked about our differences, and I’m sure he wouldn’t be upset by my impersonation of him this morning, any more than I would be if he teased me in a similar way in one of his services. But ever since then, every time I hear the word “blessed,” I flash back to that phone call. Given this week’s gospel text, the part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount that we call the Beatitudes, I thought of Jim and that phone call again.

More accurately, it made me think about just what Jesus meant when he talked about being “blessed.” I won’t get into a boring, long-winded discussion about the original Greek word used here that we translate into English as “blessed.” Suffice it to say that sometimes, it was used to mean happy, or fortunate, or well-off. But based on the way it’s used here, that can’t possibly be what he means, since by definition, if you’re poor in spirit, or mourning, or being persecuted and reviled, you aren’t happy, fortunate, or well-off, and you’d probably get mad at anyone telling you that you were.

Obviously, then, Jesus means something else when he talks about being blessed. He’s using the other meanings of this word, which is to have special favor, to have some unique standing, to be emboldened and empowered in some way. It’s only by understanding the word this way that Jesus’ words make any sense.

The great preacher David Lose once wrote that, given this meaning of Jesus’ words, to be blessed is to know that you have someone’s – in this case, God’s – unconditional regard and love. It’s to know that you aren’t, and never will be, walking alone; that God will be with you wherever you go and whatever you find yourself in the middle of.

So who was it that Jesus was talking to; who was it that he was telling God was with them? He was speaking with a group of peasants, farmers, fishermen, mostly. Nobodies, in the estimation of the movers and shakers of the time. Losers. People who had more than their fair share of being poor in spirit – worn down, beaten down by life’s circumstances; more than their fair share of mourning and grief; more than their fair share of having more powerful people pushing them down or aside and treated unjustly. And yet, these were the people that Jesus told were especially favored by God. Jesus does wrap all of it up by saying yes, their reward in heaven would be great, and beneath your current troubles you could have some consolation, some joy in that – but their real “blessing” began in this life, in the here and now. When you’re trying to live with compassion and mercy and justice toward others, even if you get beat down in the process of trying to do it, know that you are *blessed*. You have God’s promise, God’s assurance, that God will walk the walk with you – you aren’t going it alone. You’re pleasing God, and God will embolden and empower you in your efforts, even when the situation looks the darkest.

Jesus’ message to them is his message to us, too. There are going to be plenty of times that we’re trying to live in ways that please God, but we’ll end up hitting a brick wall. Times when we try to uphold God’s mercy and compassion and justice for others, and we’ll be told that it’s unrealistic and even dangerous. Times when we’ll work for peace, and we’re sneered at and told that’s an idealistic pipe dream; you can’t live like that in the real world; that it’s an angry world, and the only response we can have is to return anger for anger. Times when we’ll work to help a refugee family settle into our country and start a new life, and we’ll be told that we’re enabling our enemies; that we’re destabilizing the country because people of that religion, people from that country, supposedly pose an imminent threat to us.

The truth is, in ways large and small, if we try to really live out what Jesus lifted up in the Beatitudes, we’ll be going against what many would consider common sense, living in the “real world.” There will be times when we’ll know grief or mourning, whether because of that kind of pushback that I just mentioned, or just due to the normal difficulties and stresses we encounter in life. There will be times when we’re worn down and poor in spirit, or just poor, period. Jesus tells us that whenever any of this happens in our lives, that God lifts us up, and walks with us – in other words, that God has blessed us. Some days, that might make us feel as wild-eyed and giddy as Fundamentalist Jim. But even when it doesn’t, we’re still just as blessed.

Thanks be to God.

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Tearing Off the Tape

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It’s been an awfully long time since I actually wrote anything here other than posting sermons. I’m going to have to do something about that, soon. A part of my relative silence is that I’d decided when I started this site that I’d be as completely open and honest about my thoughts as possible. My intention for this site has been for it to be always be as transparent a reflection of who I really am, and what I really think, as is reasonably possible. People could read about me at my best, my worst, and in-between. That means that I would write what was really on my mind at a given time – even if it didn’t square with what people think I “should” be thinking or feeling; even if it was something I’d be embarrassed or ashamed of afterward, and no longer feel the same way just a few days later. The point was to show that no one is ever a perfectly predictable, or frankly, even rational, being. We’re all complex; we’re all full of contradictions; and you can only get a real feel for who a person is over time, seeing the larger patterns in their lives; while fully aware of the parts that don’t fit nicely into those larger patterns.

That’s why I’ve allowed myself to be as open as I have been here over the past several years. That’s why I’ll continue to be open and transparent and honest, not just saying what I want people to think about me, or what I think will please them.

That being said, a part of my relative quiet in recent times has been that I’ve been struggling with just how to do that now, given two new realities.

The first of these is that now, I’m in an installed pastor. I’ve been called to serve people across a wide swath of theological, ideological, and political beliefs, and I don’t want to do or say anything that would make it difficult for any of them to form a bond with their pastor. The members of my congregation certainly know where my theological and political thoughts lie, and they also know that those beliefs don’t keep me from being an effective and compassionate pastor to anyone, regardless of theology or politics. But the degree of personal openness that I’ve established as a baseline for the blog is greater than the one I set for my workplace, and I worry about that.

The second, and even more recent, concern about the level of openness that’s been the norm in the past here, is the “new normal” of our political landscape. It may sound paranoid, but I do have concerns about being completely open about my thoughts about what’s going on in this country on the national stage. I don’t know how, or if, something that I might say here could be used to single me out for some kind of unpleasantness by the current powers that be. I can’t believe that we’ve reached the point in our country where someone has to worry about that. It sounds much more like the fears of people living in totalitarian third world dictatorships. But like it or not, we’re there.

I still believe that there’s a way for me to continue to write and share here in an open and transparent way, without causing problems with the first situation. I’m just going to have to think a few things through, but since I’m getting getting settled in here now, and I’m getting the itch to write again, expect to see non-sermon things start cropping up here again in the near future. If I can find a way to be honest about my thoughts at work and still show people that it doesn’t affect how I relate to them, or them to me, then I suspect I can find a way to do the same thing here, too.

As for the second concern, I’m not sure what to do about that. Maybe the answer is to just say the hell with it, say what I think, and let the chips fall where they may – even if sometime down the road, that will be on my head. I suppose it’s time to tear off the tape.

 

It’s a Local Call

(sermon 1/22/17)

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Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles— the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.” From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.

Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people. – Matthew 4:12-23 (NRSV)

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There was a time just after my architectural firm folded, in the midst of the Great Recession, when my only source of income was what I was making as a part-time, night-shift hospital chaplain, which I promise you, wasn’t much. During that time, I scurried to find some kind of work; *any* kind of work. There just weren’t any jobs available at all in what I was professionally trained to do. There weren’t any jobs doing *anything.* I couldn’t get a job behind the counter at Panera, or as a delivery driver, or even working in a telemarketer’s phone bank. I think that the second worst day of my life was when I’d sunk so low, when things had gotten so desperate, that with six years of pastoral experience at that point, I actually applied for a position to conduct animal funerals at a local pet cemetery. I say that was probably the second worst day, because surely the worst day was when that company called to tell me I hadn’t gotten the job because I wasn’t qualified.

The only job I was able to land during that time was passing out samples of food in grocery stores, trying to catch people’s eye and getting them to sample whatever the item of the day was, telling them all its virtues, and that they could get this wonderful product right over there in aisle 3, and that there was even an amazing sale on them right now.

It was hard on my feet and back to stand there for hours on end. But I made the most of it by chatting up the shoppers, trying to coax them to come over and try this incredible crab dip, this delicious baked-in-store apple pie, this to-die-for dark chocolate and sea salt candy bar. It wasn’t always easy. Some people just stayed away and wouldn’t come over to hear me, even with the temptation of free food, but I could usually get most of them, even the most reluctant ones, to eventually come over.

And I’d go off-script. I’d be over-the-top and theatrical with them. I’d ham it up, try to draw them into a little conversation, and joke with them, and get them to laugh, or at least smile, and to give them, no matter what else might have been going on in their day, just a little zen moment of silliness, and warmth, and happiness, all served up with a little pimiento cheese spread on the side.

I have to admit then when I first started doing that, I was mostly doing it for myself. It was just a way to break the boredom, and to keep my mind off how sore my legs were, and how big a failure I must be, a 45-year old man reduced to doing this just to make ends almost meet. But gradually, it became less and less about me, and more and more about them. Thinking that maybe the silliness, and the smile and warmth and acceptance that I shared with them would be the one thing that stuck with them that day. Maybe it would be the one thing that they’d smile about and tell the others about as they sat around the dinner table that evening. In other words, I came to realize that, notwithstanding the really crappy circumstances of the job, what I was being, the way I was doing what I was doing, was actually an important part of my ministry. It was literally something sacred. It was an important part of my call.

Today’s gospel text touches on this idea of being called. John the Baptist, who makes a kind of offstage appearance in this passage, had been called to proclaim the coming of the Kingdom of God. And we heard about these first disciples, being called to follow Jesus. The idea of a call, or a calling, from God, is an interesting one. I think that a lot of times, when people consider this idea of receiving a call from God, they only think of ministers or other people who make their living by being a part of the institutional church.

But our tradition has something very different to say about this idea. It runs deep in Presbyterian thought, all the way back to the writings of John Calvin, that every one of us has been called, is being called, by God in some way or another. And that somehow, what we do as an occupation is an important part of that call. That whatever we do for a living, God is calling us to engage in it in some way that advances the Kingdom of God in the world. Sure, I know that we could all think of some illegal or immoral ways of making a living where the way to please God is to just *not* do it, but I think you understand what I mean here.

And we need to make another distinction here, too. For a lot of people, God’s call may not be something specific about precisely *what* you do for a living. We can’t fall into the trap of thinking that if we’re caught in some unbearable, low-paying, dead-end job, it’s because God wants us to be poor and miserable, that that’s just our lot in life – or even worse, that maybe God is punishing us for something, and it’s our job to just shut up and accept our fate. No. That isn’t how our occupations our professions, key into God’s call to us. To be blunt, as much good as I might have done while passing out food samples, I still got out of that job as quickly as I could.

I think that maybe the way we can understand God’s specific call to each of us is this: Whatever you do for a living – or, if you’re younger and in school, whatever you’re doing in school; or if you’re older and retired, whatever you’re doing to fill your days – whatever it is, God has called you to do it in ways that are pleasing to God. And I believe the most concrete way to please God in this world is to live in ways of compassion and care for others, in all of the hundreds of interactions we have with people throughout our week.

Just as an example, if you’re a server in a restaurant, treat the people you serve with kindness and compassion, no matter how lousy they are to you. Because you just never know – maybe that person is on a tightly fixed income, and can only afford to treat themselves out to a meal in a restaurant once a month, and this is their night. Or maybe they just got some terrible news about their health. Or maybe they’re wrestling with some inner struggle that not even their closest relatives even know, and they just need a friendly face and a kind word. Be kind. Be compassionate. That’s part of your call. And of course, the flip side of that scenario is true, too, even though it doesn’t have anything specific to do with an occupation – if you’re in a restaurant, be kind and compassionate to your server, too, even if it took them a little longer than you’d like to bring out the bread sticks or top off your iced tea. Maybe they’re having a bad day. Maybe they’re running a little behind because they’re dog-tired, working two or even three jobs, or they’re near the end of a double shift that they’d had to work just in order to pay the rent that’s already a week past due. Be kind. Be compassionate. That’s part of your call.

Well, that’s just one hypothetical example; no doubt you can imagine a parallel scenario based on your own life situation. The point here is that it isn’t just people like me who receives a call from God. Every single one of you have, too. It’s a different call from mine, but it’s no less important. It’s no less sacred. It’s no less a form of ministry. Each one of you is being called, and drawn, by God, to do something, and to *be* something, specific in this world – to help other people, to be kind and compassionate to them, to show them mercy, and justice, and human dignity, and most importantly, to do it all out of love and gratitude for the God who created and loves us all.

The truth is, everyone’s dealing with something. The truth is, God is calling each of us to help them get through it.

Some people in this world are  called by God to do some big thing, something that makes it on the national or world stage. For most of us, that isn’t the case. Most of us are called to do a whole lot of little things, local things, things that maybe no one will ever know about. But they all add up to a great thing. Just as an example, look at what happened yesterday in this country, and around the world. it was something truly amazing. Millions of individuals did just one simple thing: they just showed up. They just showed up, to be counted, to make it clear where they stood and what they believed and why, and to make it clear that they would work to advance those beliefs. Each one of them just did this one simple thing – but together, they did something record-breaking. Something truly momentous. Something heroic. Something historic.

Those first disciples that Jesus called didn’t set the world on fire on day one. Christianity didn’t circle the globe in its first week. Those disciples started out pretty simple, one day at a time, one little thing at a time, sometimes getting it right and sometimes getting it wrong, as they tried to hear and follow Jesus’ call to them. And it’s the same with us. So today, I just ask you to think about your own, personal, local call from God. What does it look like? It’s probably a series of those little things. A smile, a shoulder to lean on, a few dollars shoved in a pocket, a ride to the doctor. And maybe it comes with a surprise gift of fresh-baked corn bread. Or a casserole delivered on the afternoon after the funeral. Or maybe even a sample of cheese dip in aisle 3.

Thanks be to God.

Where Are You Staying?

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(sermon 1/15/17 – Race Relations Sunday)

The next day [John the Baptist] saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.” The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!”

The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter). – John 1:29-42

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There’s a lot going on in this gospel text, but let’s pick up the story in this gospel text in the middle – these disciples of John the Baptist are intrigued by Jesus. They want to know more about him and follow him, so they ask him, Rabbi, where are you staying? And Jesus gives them one of those great Jesus non-answer answers, Come and see. And for some reason that can only be attributed to the leading of God’s Spirit, without really knowing where he was staying, or where he’d be going next, they did.

That was really indicative of all of Jesus’ ministry, proclaiming God’s good news for all people – first to the Jews, then outward to the despised half-breed Samaritans, then the Romans who were occupying the land and bleeding it dry with their taxes going back to Rome. Jesus and his message just wouldn’t stay put with just one particular racial or ethnic group. And the Church did the same – moving outward to all nations, all races. In fact, we Christians from so-called “white” origins came pretty late to the party. By the time the Christian faith was taking root in Western Europe, there were already well-established Christian churches and communities in places like Syria, Jordan, Turkey, Egypt, Ethiopia, India, China, and countless other places that had been going strong for hundreds of years. It’s only because God’s Spirit refused to establish permanent residency with any one particular racial or ethnic group any more than Jesus did, or to establish any one race as superior or more favored over any other, that we’re even a part of the whole global Christian movement at all.

It’s because of that that we can indeed see Christ alive, and vibrant, in people everywhere. We can see the face of God in races and faces of every color and appearance. We can see this Great Truth – that all of those different looking faces, in all of their wonderful, beautiful diversity, are fully and equally created in the image of God. All of them are fully and equally deserving of equal human rights, equal opportunity, human dignity, and true justice. And if we dishonor any of them, then we dishonor the God who created them. This is the Great Truth.

But somehow, in too much of our history and theology, we lost sight of that Great Truth. Somehow, we allowed ourselves to buy into theologies and cultural norms and standards that replaced the Great Truth with the Big Lie – that “race” is actually a significant biological difference, that some races have inherent flaws in them and are inferior to others, and that among all of them, the white race was the superior one, the most God-blessed one. And because of that, they were justified in exploiting the other races for their own benefit. We believed the Big Lie directly and openly, justified by twisted scriptural interpretations from equally twisted spiritual leaders, for centuries, causing terrible, devastating, intergenerational harm to millions of people.

We used the Big Lie to justify the scandalous thought that we had a God-ordained right to actually own other people as property, because they were racially inferior to “us.” We reaped the benefits of free and near-free labor from African-Americans, enriching us at their expense. And set up social systems designed to keep them in poverty, designed to make it all but impossible for them to ever advance socially, educationally, economically – and then we had the nerve to look down on them, saying that apparently their race was inherently less intelligent, less ambitious, less able to succeed, to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps – they were morally and socially inferior to “us.”

We confiscated the property of Japanese-Americans and sent them to internment camps during World War II, even including many native-born American citizens, ignorantly thinking that they couldn’t be trustworthy, loyal Americans. They were considered morally and culturally inferior to “us.” Even after many of them served heroically in the war, many of them still weren’t eligible for citizenship, because the Naturalization Act of 1790 limited naturalized citizenship exclusively to free whites; and except for slaves who became citizens by Constitutional Amendment, that whites-only policy was in force until 1952.

We considered the Latino people of Central and South America to be an uncivilized, childlike race, which we used to justify exploiting them. Our corporations moved into their countries, buying up the land and means of production with the help of our government. We set up puppet governments in many of those countries which protected those financial interests. The corporations siphoned off the wealth of those nations to themselves, and indirectly, to us – turning the native population into a near slave-state that couldn’t earn enough money to survive. And when many of them, just trying simply to not starve to death, began to emigrate to the U.S., we limited how many of them could legally emigrate to ridiculously low levels, because we saw them as morally and culturally inferior to “us.” Then, when out of desperation many of them crossed the border illegally, and often at risk to their own lives, we were indignant, asking why they didn’t just go through proper legal channels, like our own grandparents had. We used the fact that they’d entered our country illegally as proof that they were all lawless undesirables who had to be feared.

Those are all hard truths to hear. But they are truths nonetheless. If they made you uncomfortable, or upset, or angry to hear them, I promise you that wasn’t my intent, except maybe to be angry that they ever occurred to begin with. They’re all the result of us losing sight of Jesus’ example, and buying into the Big Lie. I only mention them to help explain how we got to where we are today in this country with regard to race. To be clear, I don’t believe for a minute that anyone here today believes those tired, old, twisted, discredited beliefs about people of color. But all of us live in a world where we’re living with the ongoing results of those former things. We’re living in a world where social systems are still in place that perpetuate some of those past evils. We’re living as Christ’s Church in a way that’s probably the most segregated of any aspect of our weekly living, brought about largely by cultural differences and distrust that came about as a result of those old beliefs. And all of us – each one of us, without exception – carries some degree of racial prejudice and racial misunderstanding that are a lasting legacy of the Big Lie.

That would leave us in a very bleak place, if that were the end of the story. There would be little hope for us in our diverse, multi-racial society. There wouldn’t be much hope for any meaningful lasting kind of racial justice and reconciliation, if that were the end of the story. But because of Christ, we know that all of this misguided history isn’t the end of the story. We know that the Big Lie is just that – a lie, and the Great Truth is God’s truth of equality for all, and that there is really only one race – the human race. And because of that, we can work for racial justice and reconciliation.

The disciples in the gospel text didn’t know what to expect, but God’s Spirit led them into that unknown – and we can be assured that God’s Spirit will do the same for us, as we struggle with how to work for justice and reconciliation. God will enable us to see the face of Christ, the image of God, in all races and faces, and will lead us to work together to achieve racial reconciliation. When those disciples asked Jesus where he was staying, and where he was going, Jesus said Come and see. If we do the same, and we engage in community with people of color, if we hear their stories and are open to them telling us their reality, and being open to them telling us what needs to be fixed, then together, we’ll be able to put the Big Lie to bed once and for all.

Yesterday, I was at the Men of Peace Presbyterian Church’s annual Martin Luther King Jr. celebration. I didn’t have a reservation, and when I arrived, the person at the door said, “That’s OK; we have two tables set aside for people without reservations; they’re over there.” And when I looked at where he was pointing, don’t you know that one full table of the two was filled with people from Springdale Presbyterian Church. Honestly, it looked a little funny – it looked like someone had put up a sign that said “Old White Guys Sit Here.” And it was true; I think we were the only all-white table in the entire hall. But as funny as it might have looked, the great thing was that they were all there. They were all willing to show up, to get out of our all-white bubble, and be part of it – almost saying, “We aren’t really sure what all we can do, but at least we’re here – we’ve come to see – and we want to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.”  The truth is, I couldn’t have been any more proud of Springdale Church, and those guys, as I was yesterday.

Tomorrow, we celebrate the life and legacy of Dr. King. As we do, let’s honor his memory by finding ways that we can engage in the work of racial reconciliation, and advancing human dignity and justice for all of God’s people. Maybe it will lead us into new territory; maybe even into conversations and considerations that we make us uncomfortable. Maybe it will be a little scary. But that’s OK – because when those disciples asked Jesus where he was staying, the real answer was “nowhere,” and at the same time, “everywhere.” Jesus has already been where we’re heading. He’s out ahead of us, telling us “Come on; Come and see!” – and if Jesus is already there, then what do we have to be afraid of?

Thanks be to God.