Jonah 3:6-10; Matthew 7:1-5; The Log in my Eye; Delivered June 17, 2018

I know a fellow pastor who swears that nothing happens by coincidence.   I’m not THAT much of a purist.  Although God does work wonders and is very much a part of our lives, I think that there is room for a coincidence now and then.  HOWEVER, I will say that this week, what happened to me was more than coincidence.   

And to think it happened at a Presbytery meeting!  Yes, apparently God even attends Presbytery meetings. I am going to tell you what happened, but everything right now is still kind of a jumble for me, so you will have to bear with me if the pieces of this jigsaw saga do not fit snuggly together. I am still processing.   

To begin, I would like us to put ourselves at that Presbytery meeting. We are at Westminster/Cantebury, a retirement community in Richmond.  We are sitting in a large meeting room.  Two lecterns flank the center stage.  There are also several chairs on stage, and a table on which stands a large brass, Celtic cross.  After a time of worship, and after hearing reports from various committees, two women, one black the other white, climb the stairs to the stage.  They situate two of the chairs next to each other, center stage, and they sit down.  So begins their mini-drama, which is really a conversation. Here is the gist of the conversation: 

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Genesis 3:8-19; Educated; Delivered June 10, 2018

On the front cover of your bulletin today is a picture of a decorated Akkadian cylinder seal.  Say that three times fast!  An Akkadian cylinder seal is just what you might think—it is a cylinder. It comes from Akkad, a city in the ancient Babylonian Empire.  This Akkadian cylinder seal is small.  It has a hole in the middle so that you can run a string through and wear it as an amulet around your neck or wrist.  Since this and other similar cylinder seals are in relief, it is thought that the Akkadians may have also used them to make imprints—hence the name seal—They dipped the cylinder in ink and rolled it on something flat, parchment maybe—or if not ink, maybe they rolled it on soft clay--creating a reverse image.   

We don’t know if that is what they did, though.   We only have the cylinders.  The one you are looking at dates from the 22nd century, BCE.  That makes it around 4200 years old.  Isn’t that something? 

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Wrestling with God; Genesis 32:22-31; Delivered June 3, 2018

 I have read that it takes 10 years to learn most crafts. That’s about right in the case of preaching.  There may be some child prodigies out there--gifted souls, for whom it comes more easily, but most preachers have to put in their time and practice, practice, practice.  

When I was new to ministry, and I had a preaching assignment, I asked our church secretary to read my draft.  Bless her soul, she was happy to do that.  Faye, her name is Faye, had a keen sense of what works.  By the time she became my go-to-source for sermon editing, she had been the church secretary for 15 years.  The head pastor wrote all his sermon-drafts long-hand on yellow legal pads.  She transcribed them.  That meant she had read a lot of sermons— a lot of GOOD sermons, actually.  Our head pastor was an able preacher.  

Faye was always gentle with me. That was the other reason she was my go-to person, for editing. So for example, one time she handed back a sermon and said:   This is great, Gay Lee,,but you’ve put what should be your ending paragraph at the beginning of your sermon.” She was right.  I had given away the punch line in the very first paragraph. 

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Spiritual not Religious; John 3:1-17; Delivered May 27, 2018

I went back and forth this week, with whether to admit this to you.  Then I remembered that Randy Haycock, admitted this to you last year, so I guess I can join his club.  I hereby confess that like Randy, when I first came to the Central Virginia area, not knowing a soul in this area, I decided to try my luck with Match.com.  Well, actually, it is more complicated than that.  One of my daughters, Paige, signed me up for Match.com, but I played along, so I am partly responsible.   I read from at least one religious leader that Match.com is the devil’s plaything.  I hope that you don’t think that I was engaging in immorality.  I simply wanted to get to know people outside the church, and, if I’m honest, I also wanted to see if I might still be attractive to people of the opposite sex, old girl that I am.   I’m not fishing for compliments, mind you, but if, after the service, you want to tell me how very young and attractive I am, I can tell you, I promise to be all ears! 


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Pentecost: Acts 2:1-15; Delivered May 20, 2018

Dale Matthews.   He’s a doctor, probably retired now, but I’m not sure about that.  He lived in McLean, where I used to live. Maybe he still DOES live in McLean, with his wife, Karen.   His daughter was good friends with my daughter, and so we were acquaintances.  I found out during our usually harried discussions, either dropping off or picking up our girls after playdates, that Dale had written a book.  That’s cool in itself.  But the topic of his book was especially interesting to me.  It was about faith.  I bought the book, read it.  It was surprisingly good!  It was about this believing doctor’s take on faith as a prescription for healing— If you’re interested, I found out this week, it’s still in print.  The book is titled, The Faith Factor:  Proof of the Healing Power of Prayer. 

I thought the church I served would enjoy hearing from him. I invited him to speak, at an after-worship get-together. Dale graciously accepted my invitation.


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Luke 2:41-51; Mother Mary, Delivered May 13, 2018

I love this story, that’s because it’s a very human story.  If you are a parent, then you have, at some point, lost a child at the grocery maybe—or in a parking lot.  Maybe even at a church.   You can identify. 

My own lost-child story happened many moons ago, when my girls were small—two, four and six.  It was Fall.  I had bought each of the girls a little rake, and with those they were helping me rake leaves.  We had a big oak tree out front of our house.  Leaf raking was fun!   We were raking the leaves into a big pile at the street-curb. The town had these big leaf-sucker trucks—that’s their technical name.  Leaf-sucker trucks.  Those trucks would suck up what we raked up.

I promised the girls that after we had a decent leaf pile, I would swing them around and then throw them in. That is what we were up to on that glorious fall day.  We were busy, raking and giggling, and having fun.

But things were about to go seriously south.  It must have been around five in the afternoon.  It was time to put the dinner casserole in the oven.  I put down my rake and yelled to my oldest daughter Emily, who I am sad to report, too often served as Mommy’s little helper—I yelled, “Emily, watch Paige for a minute, I’m going into the house to start dinner.”  It was a short distance from front door to kitchen.  I had just stepped into that kitchen, with Emily following behind.  “Mom, Paige is running down the sidewalk toward the end of the street.” 

Back outside I looked down the street where Emily was pointing.  That’s where the sidewalk ended at a street intersection.  No Paige.  No Paige anywhere.  I hadn’t been gone long enough for her to just disappear like that.  It made no sense.  How could she just be gone?  

So I do what you do.  I start screaming, “Paige!” as I run down the sidewalk toward the end of the street.  Once I arrive I look in both directions.  Still no Paige.  I run back up toward our house.  What to do?  By this time, a couple of neighbors have heard my frantic calls.  They come out of their houses to help me look, but look where?

I waste no time.  I phone the police.  “Description please?”  “Oh, my goodness!  A description?”  In my mind I can see Paige’s body flat out on the street, hit by a car—she’s still dressed in her navy blue jumper with the little yellow bumble bee appliqué sewn onto the bottom skirt part.  Red tights.  Red Turtle neck sweater. Blue tennis shoes. Oh heavens, no!”

My mind is a jumble, but then a smidge of sanity kicks in.  Paige is obsessed with a little girl—eight-year-old Katherine, who lives in a house toward that intersection.  Had Paige run to Katherine’s house?  With the police on their way, neighbors standing around in their yards, and a kindly soul watching after the other two girls, I run down the sidewalk again, this time stopping at Katherine’s house.  Katherine’s mom’s car is not in the driveway, but I ring the doorbell anyway.  No answer.

 Just as I am turning to leave, Katherine’s mom, Karen, does indeed drive up.  She is back from wherever it is she had been.  I explain what’s up.  “I thought maybe she had come to see Katherine?”  Karen unlocks the front door.  We step inside.  “Maybe Paige has wandered into your backyard?”  I suggest hopefully.   As we walk through the house toward the backdoor and the backyard, get this--Paige peeks out from behind Karen’s living room drapes and shouts, “Boo.”  Like this had all been a fun game of hide and seek.  

Happy day!   Of course, I swoop Paige up in a firm embrace and probably cried, although I don’t remember if there were tears.

 Best I have been able to figure, when I went into the house to tend to the casserole, Paige saw her opportunity.  She ran down the sidewalk toward her beloved Katherine’s FENCED-IN backyard.  She opened the gate, which for the sake of argument we will assume was slightly ajar.  Finding no Katherine there, she let herself into the house via the backdoor.  Karen had left the backdoor closed but unlocked.  Paige must have stretched on tippy toe, turned that back door’s doorknob, and let herself in. 

Karen, Paige and I return to the sidewalk where we are greeted by Emily, Joy a few neighbors and a kindly police officer.  I explain to the officer that the toddler in my arms is indeed, the lost child.  And, that’s the end of my own personal lost child saga.

All to say, like many of you I am sure, I identify with Mary in today’s story.   Ok.  I know Jesus was twelve, not two, but I don’t care what age a son or daughter is, he or she is still your child.    Jesus was alone in Jerusalem, which I imagine, was NOT a so very holy city.  I mean it may have been the seat of the temple, but I suspect it had its share of low lives—thieves, prostitutes, murderers even—people hoping to take advantage of unsuspecting, naïve, festival goers.

Sadly, scripture doesn’t give us a whole lot to go on regarding the boy Jesus.  I imagine him as smart beyond his years—maybe even a child prodigy. But Jesus doesn’t have street smarts. He has spent his growing up years in Nazareth, after all, a small, backwater village— That fact would have added to his parents’ worries.

His parents.  How could they have lost their son, for heaven’s sake? We can imagine, can’t we?   They were traveling with extended family members. In all the commotion of packing up, and grabbing a quick bite to eat before heading out of Jerusalem, they had skipped the head count.  You know the head count.  “Ok, do we have everyone? José, Miriam, Joshua, Nathan, Judith, Jesus?”  They hadn’t done that. 

 Their mistake.  It wasn’t all on them, though. Jesus was partly to blame, don’t you think?  In the commotion of that morning, Jesus had seen an opportunity—an opportunity to talk with the learned men at temple.  “I’ll just slip out--won’t be gone long.  Be back before we leave for home.”  But then, of course, the time got away from him. 

He’s sitting with the elders, asking questions, debating—at some point, he looks past them to the door of the temple.  Jesus sees that it is dusk.  “Already?  How could that be?  Better to stay put than to try to catch up with my family on the road.” 

Actually that probably WAS a wise move.  No telling who or what he would have encountered out beyond Jerusalem’s gates—Jesus, a lone traveler.  

Where did Jesus stay for three days?  I’m thinking a kindly priest, maybe awed by Jesus’ love of scripture, his sense of purpose, and of course, that special something that set him apart already as a spokesperson for God.  Yes, a kindly priest offered his home to Jesus for sleeping and eating. Days he spent at the temple learning the finer points of scripture. It must have been glorious, for him.     

Like my trauma of losing Paige, it also ended well for Jesus’ parents.  When they discover that Jesus is missing, they return to Jerusalem, as Jesus expected them to.  They enter the temple.  They see their son sitting among the bearded elders—AS IF HE BELONGS THERE. They are too overcome with relief to be shocked by the incongruity of that image--their young son in deep conversation with men three, four times his age.

Mary says what we would expect her to say, when she is finally face-to-face with her son-- something to the effect, “Jesus, how could you do this to your father and me????!  We were worried sick!”

Tell me, wouldn’t that be exactly what YOU would say? Maybe Mary wagged a finger, too.  I would have wagged a finger at Paige, if she had been old enough to understand such a thing. As I said, this is a very human story.  That’s why I love it.   How true to motherhood, to parenthood.    

But now we come to the sticky part to this story. After Mary scolds Jesus, Jesus scolds her right back.   Scolds. That’s one way of putting it.  Some of the commentators I read this week, use the word reproach—Jesus reproaches his mother.  Really?  Did she deserve reproaching?  

I mean, forget for a moment that the boy is Jesus.  Imagine you are a mother, having just been through what Mary has gone through.  Your adolescent son is standing before you.   You say, “We were worried sick about you!”  Your adolescent son just might roll his eyes, and think if not actually say, “Gee Mom, just chill.  I’m fine. And by the way, the Temple is where you and Dad should have looked for me first.” Slightly, maybe even very rude, but typical, right?

But of course, we are not talking about any adolescent, we are talking about Jesus.

It is true though that Jesus is both human and God.  Human adolescent boys, do roll their eyes. Human adolescent boys do say words like “chill.”    It all boils down to how you conceive of Jesus—is he more God than human, or more human than God.  Tough to wrap our minds around Jesus as both human and God.   My thinking though, is that this very human story reveals the very human side of Jesus’ nature, just as it does the very human side of Mary’s nature. So Jesus reproaches his mother, maybe even rolling his eyes, and asking her to “Chill.” Adolescents!

But we are not done with our scripture passage yet. I want to return to Mary, one more time, since this is after all, Mother’s Day.

It sounds trite, but it’s true. There are moments when parents are confronted with the fact of their child’s impending independence—their adulthood.  Those moments are happy and sad both. “Gee, I really like what I am learning in computers, in math; and I’m good at it. One day I’m going to be a computer technician, a mathematician.  Or. “I really enjoy cooking, and you know what?  People like what I cook!  I think I’ll be a chef, or a dietician. Mom, I really, really like this guy I’m dating.  Can’t wait for you to meet him.” That’s you, Paul.  

So, Mary and Joseph enter the temple. They see their son, THEIR TWELVE YEAR OLD son, seated among the elders like he belongs there.  Mary scolds Jesus for staying behind in Jerusalem, but she is not just angry with him.  Her feelings are more complicated than that.  She feels relief that her son is safe, yes; she feels pride that Jesus seems to be holding his own among the temple elders in Jerusalem—“Yes; that’s my boy! “ But I suspect she also feels sad. Jesus has managed just fine all by himself, in a metropolis, away from family and away from HER.  He has discovered his calling. Yes, Mary feels a tinge of sadness, bordering on, dare I say it, grief. 

Mary treasured all those complicated, competing feelings –in her heart. As all parents do.  Yes, this IS a very human story.  Amen

  

 

How much love? 1 John 3:16-24; Delivered April 22, 2018

David Brooks. You probably know the name and the person attached to it.   I guess you could call him a pundit—but he is also a journalist.  Some of his articles have appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, for example, and currently he is a columnist at the New York Times.  He has written a few books, including his 2015, The Road to Character.  In that book, he focuses on the values that should inform our lives--not values that lead to success, a big house, maybe, a fast car, but values that shape us so that we live good and wholesome and virtuous lives—in other words, values that shape our character.   It’s a good read. Anyway, somewhere in the book, David Brooks writes something to the effect, “Find a cause to give yourself to, something that can’t, as in CAN NOT-- something that can’t be accomplished in your lifetime.”

That has really stuck with me—and not in a good way. It’s the gnat buzzing in my ear.  It’s the splinter in my finger.   I mean, doesn’t what he says, go against what we were raised to believe, and how we have been programmed to live—you know--to engage and conquer?  To see, whatever it may be, through to the very end?  To persevere until the job is accomplished so that one day, when you reach those pearly gates, God will say, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant, well done?’” 

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A Revelation; Luke 24:36b-48; Delivered April 15, 2018

Before we get into today’s text, we need to consider the frame of mind of the disciples before and immediately following Jesus’ crucifixion. So let us do a quick recap.  In the early days of Jesus’ ministry, and up until the time of his death, the disciples had believed that Jesus had a special role to play in history.  They entertained the notion that Jesus would assume political power at least equal to that of King David.  Some of them though, even dared to consider that Jesus might be the long-hoped-for messiah. 

But then, horror of horrors, Jesus was crucified?!  The disciples were stunned, but that is too mild a word I think.  Better, shocked and stupefied-- their dreams had been shattered, their worldview like paper, torn up into little pieces, and then stomped on. 

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Living the Good Life; Psalm 133 and Acts 4:32-35; Delivered April 8, 018

Joy.  Today is all about joy! 

Ages ago, I was sitting in a congregation listening to a pastor preach about joy.  His message that Sunday was, “YOU should all be happy!” but his tone, said, “Bad, bad, people—God wants you to be happy and you’re not!”  wagging a finger at us as it were—berating us for not being joyful.  I won’t speak for the other listeners, but I slinked out of worship, head low.    

On the other hand, I have a pastor friend, who reserves cannonball Sunday— this Sunday after Easter, a day when historically you can shoot a cannon ball through church walls and not hit one darn soul—he reserves THIS Sunday for joke telling.

How does he do that? Well, it’s a congregational effort.  Talk about unity!—which is, if you were listening closely, you know, is the subject of today’s scripture passages.   People in the congregation submit their best jokes to my pastor friend over the course of the entire year.  On cannonball Sunday, he reads them out loud. A good time is had by all!  Good way to raise attendance, I’d say. 

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Mark 16:1-8 Failure; Delivered Easter Sunday, April 1, 2018

Triumph. That’s what Easter is supposed to be about.  It’s trumpets, and hallelujahs, maybe even drums—at least at one church I served, we had drums, big kettle drums. This passage in Mark, though? Well, it doesn’t come close to eliciting feelings of joy and exultation.  The story here relates how three fearful women flee the empty tomb, disobeying the angel’s explicit instructions.   What instructions?  To tell the disciples that Jesus has risen.  We’re on the edge of our (cushioned?) pew seats expecting resolution, and it doesn’t come.  And that creates in us a dis-ease.  Instead of a sounding trumpet, we hear sucked-in breath, instead of loud hallelujahs, it’s whispers, and instead of the boom, boom, boom of kettle drums it’s the sound of light, fleeing footsteps on gravel. 

For that reason, preachers, often eschew Mark 16:1-8 at Easter—even though every third year in the lectionary cycle, we are supposed to follow the gospel of Mark to its end.   If we DO stick with the gospel of Mark for our Easter scripture reading, we rely on those helpful add-ons.  You saw the add-ons at the end of the gospel of Mark if you were reading the scripture along with me a few minutes ago. You saw the short, 5 -line add-on.  It was not written by the author of Mark.  We know that.  The writing style is just too different.  Someone other than that author wrote a second ending.  It’s way more emotionally satisfying. The author relates that the women do as they are told. They run tell the disciples about the empty tomb.  After that, the resurrected Jesus appears to the disciples and then delivers his message to the ends of the earth. TA DA!  That’s triumph. 

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A Grassroots Movement; Mark 16:1-10; Delivered March 25, 2018

Owen Gray is a young man I have worked with in our Presbytery. We both served on the Public Policy and Witness Purpose Group.  When I worked with him, 3 or 4 years ago, he was a student at Union Seminary.  Now he’s graduated. He’s an associate pastor at a Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis. He and his wife have a new baby girl.  

  Owen shot me an e-mail a few months back.  He filled me in on his life, and then he added a BTW, “By the way, would you be willing to speak at a NEXT Church conference in Baltimore about your work on gun violence prevention?  The topic of the workshop I am leading is grassroots organizing.” 

So what is NEXT?  It’s “A network of church leaders—members, ruling elders, youth leaders, pastors, seminarians and professors across the PCUSA who have a vision for the church as more diverse, more collaborative, and more hopeful.” (I’m taking that off NEXT’s web page). These dedicated Presbyterians meet annually.  The NEXT meeting this year was to be in Baltimore. Owen wanted me to speak at that.

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Doing Mission; Mark 1:29-30, Delivered March 18, 2018

In today’s passage from chapter 1 of Mark, we are right at the beginning of Jesus’ healing ministry.  He has spent time in the wilderness, wrestling with the devil; he has called his first disciples, and now, beginning with Mark 1:29, we read that Jesus is preaching in the synagogue, maybe his first time ever preaching.  During the service, a man with a demon interrupts him, and Jesus reveals that he has this extraordinary power—the power to heal.    

My, people must have been surprised! And hopeful. If Jesus could cast out this one man’s demons, could he do it for others?  And if he could cast out other peoples’ demons, too, could he also heal a person doubled over with back pain?  Could he cure leprosy? Could he mend a withered hand?  Maybe.  Hope quickly diffuses throughout the gathering of worshipers and then beyond. We read that, “The news traveled fast all over Galilee.” After that first healing, when Jesus visits Peter’s house, hoards of people follow him.  They line up at Peter’s front door—wanting, begging to be healed.

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By the Order of Melchizedek; Hebrews 5:5-10; Delivered March 11, 2018

In today’s sermon, I am going to be throwing at you a lot of Bible trivia.  To get our brains thinking along those lines, I thought I’d start us off with some Bible trivia questions. You ready?

 Trivia question number 1.  What is the name of the disciple Jesus loved, as he is referred to in the gospel of John?  Wink, wink. 

Ok.  Trivia question number 2.  Who fit the battle of Jericho? (Ethan)

Trivia question number 3.  Who is Melchizedek, whose name is mentioned in today’s scripture reading from Hebrews?  I didn’t think so. 

I didn’t know either until this week, Hey, do you expect me to know EVERYHING?  Actually, after a week of research, I STILL don’t know much about this mysterious person.  I am, though, a little further along in my understanding. At the beginning of this week, Melchizedek was a shadow, now he has an outline and there’s the suggestion, at least, of his flesh and bones.  

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Jesus the Revolutionary; John 2:13-22; Delivered on March 4, 2018

I had to reach, deep down into my heart to retrieve this true story.  It’s from a time long, long ago, thirty years long ago, in a place far, far away—McLean, Virginia. 

My youngest daughter, Paige, who married last year, was maybe four and a half years old.  Christina, her friend, also four and half, lived just around the block.  She was at our house for a playdate.  Paige and Christina were sitting on the family room sofa.  So have in your mind now, two little people.  Their legs are outstretched in front of them, because, you know, their legs aren’t long enough to sit as grown ups do, with feet to the floor.  Their legs are even too short to dangle. 

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Covenant; Genesis 17:1-7 and 15-16, Delivered February 25, 2018

Covenant.  That’s one of the themes of today’s passage.  And actually it was the theme of last week’s Old Testament lectionary passage, if you have been following that.  In last week’s Old Testament lectionary passage, God covenants to never again send a flood of the dimensions of that first flood, which as you know, wiped out almost everything on the planet.   In this week’s Old Testament lectionary passage, God covenants with Abraham and Sarah that they will be fruitful and multiply and be forbearers of entire nations.

I use the word covenant a lot—since I officiate at a lot of weddings.  When I officiate at a wedding, I ask the groom, “Knowing that God has created, ordered and blessed the covenant of marriage, is it your desire and intention to enter this covenant?“ After the groom says yes, and no one yet has said no, thank goodness!  I ask the same of the bride, “is it YOUR desire and intention to enter this covenant?”  

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How to Make SOME Sense of Senseless Violence, Mark 1:9-15; Delivered February 19, 2018

Ok.  So Jesus is at the Jordan as he is every year, this time, which is the beginning of Lent.  He’s at the Jordan River.  He has just been baptized by his cousin John, and as he rises from the water, a miraculous thing happens.  God opens the cellar door of heaven; crouches down and in what I imagine is a voice like thunder, God says, “In YOU I am well pleased.” It’s miraculous but you’ve heard it so many times, that it’s probably become ho hum with you.  Yeah, yeah yeah.    

The poet Rumi says, when we really need to pay attention, “Close both ears and hear with the other eye.”  I am asking you to do that now. So, close the ears on either side of your head, and open the ear that is inside your heart. Listen to God with that third ear and THIS time, think about God’s inflexion, as God crouches beside that cellar door of heaven. “In you I am well pleased.” 

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Jonah, the Contrarian; The book of Jonah, delivered January 28, 2017

For many years I was in charge of planning and participating in church sponsored mission trips.  Usually our one mission trip was to Marlinton, West Virginia, although eventually we added other mission trips to our summer offerings--to Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, and one year to Nogales, Mexico.  So, Marlinton, West Virginia.  It was a super-depressed area.  In Marlinton we worked with Habitat for Humanity.  We never worked at building new homes in Marlinton, though.   That was because the Habitat there didn’t have enough money for NEW homes—we worked at renovating old homes, many of them, old trailer homes.  We worked in many a trailer park over the years, actually.   Since many of the volunteers were high school and college age, we went on our trips when the youth were out of school, during the summer—and it was always, always hot. 

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Mark 1:14-20; The Call; Delivered January 21, 2018

June, 1991.  I was just finishing up another week, another year directing vacation bible school at my church.  Sixty-seven kids participated that June, along with 15 volunteer teachers, crafts people, and snack planners, preparers.  It had gone well.  I was on a high, actually.  Lots of good vibes on that last day of VBS.

Now at my church, Immanuel Presbyterian, in McLean Virginia, the sanctuary is removed from the classrooms and offices.  Between the sanctuary and the classrooms and offices is a small courtyard.  I was in that courtyard, walking from the sanctuary, where end-of-week VBS exercises had just taken place--toward the classrooms, to help with the-end-of-week clean up, when I felt it.  That feeling was profound, overwhelming. I stopped walking and just stood there.  You know the phrase, “time stood still?”  Well, I suppose it did.  I don’t remember hearing anything or seeing anything, although surely there were other people in that courtyard, talking, laughing.  I was alone with my feelings, under a courtyard tree.  

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Acts 10:11-16; Food! Delivered January 14, 2018

Knowing that we would be having special guests with us today, to talk about Meals on Wheels; and realizing that this is a slow time in the church calendar—we are in that ho -hum liturgical stretch between Christmas and Lent, I have strayed from the lectionary today.  But don’t tell Presbytery—no, I’m kidding.  It’s really ok for me to do that. 

TODAY, I thought I would have us read some scripture passages that have to do with food, and we did that, right?  The scripture passage from the Psalms and the one from Acts?  After that, I thought I would say something truly remarkable and insightful about food from a religious perspective, based on the passages I chose for today, and that would be a lead-in for Marilyn’s, Debbie’s and Leigh’s presentation.   

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Jeremiah 31:7-17; Hope; Delivered January 7, 2018

Like all of us, I guess, with this ping-pong weather we are experiencing, I have been worried that snow is just around the corner—that one of these days I may find myself snowed in, and/or having to call off church.  I have a bag of rock salt and a snow shovel at the ready.  Will that be enough?  I don’t know!  Snowstorms.  Not wanting one but they do make for some good stories.

 My great snowstorm story happened when I was 9 years old, in March, 1962.  I was living in Richmond, Virginia with the rest of my family.  My younger brother, who was seven, and I had taken the bus to our elementary school that day.  That morning, waiting for the bus, there was already significant snow on the ground. I was still light-weight enough that I could walk on the snow’s ice crust and not leave boot prints. Remember those days?    

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