A Future with Hope

Jeremiah 29:10-14     

Years ago I traveled from Iowa to San Francisco to attend a work-related conference. It felt like a different world. Walking through the city, I encountered the homeless on every street, begging. My colleagues and I talked about what was the right thing to do – whether to give, how to give. We wanted to help, we wanted to do the right thing, but it’s often unclear what the right thing is.

One of my colleagues decided that she was going to give something to every person who asked and she did– until she ran out of money to give. When one more man approached her asking for something, she stopped, looked him in the eye and said, “I am all out, I have given it all away, and there is still so much need. How much am I supposed to give?”

He shrugged and turned away. It was an odd question for her to ask this man. But it is a question many of us wonder. How much are we supposed to give? It’s a difficult question in any case, but especially when we can see that no matter how much we give it is not enough. We cannot solve the problems of the world, much as we might want to.

The problems of the world are not new, of course. We remember Jesus’ words to his disciples: you will always have the poor with you. And it has always been integral to the church’s mission to serve those who are in need in whatever ways we can. The Great Ends of the Church include the shelter, nurture, and spiritual fellowship of the children of God and the promotion of social righteousness – making evident the kingdom of God to the world. And I want to say today that the women of the church, the Presbyterian Women, have always excelled in this way.

Perhaps it was because they were prevented from doing other things. Back when the Presbyterian Women first organized, the men of the church forbade women to speak or pray in church gatherings, but they couldn’t (nor did they want to) stop their amazing fund-raising efforts. They raised money for scholarships, for missionaries, for Bibles, for Sunday schools, and other charitable works.

In 1888, a Presbyterian woman named Eliza Clokey wanted to do a little bit more. She asked each woman in the church to give one dollar over her usual contribution to the Women’s General Missionary Society – a thank offering to the Lord. It became an annual event.

These offerings Eliza proposed would provide opportunity for the women of the church to support missions all over the world. It was an opportunity that the women seemed to embrace wholeheartedly. In 1903, the minutes of the General Assembly report that the Thank Offering that year brought in more than $34,000. “No effort is too great for the United Presbyterian Women to put forth,” they wrote. This seems to be true.

This year, the Presbyterian Women were able to give almost $400,000 in 18 grants for projects that educate women, provide food to those who are hungry, shelter to those without homes, healing to the sick, friendship to immigrants. It is astounding to read through the list of projects the women are supporting, the good work they are enabling. They are doing a lot. And yet they lament that they are not doing more.

They express regret that they were unable to fund all 75 requests that came to them. They grieve that the troubles of this world are so deep, so great, that their gifts fall far short of addressing every need. They know that, in spite of our efforts, we are unlikely to see the end of hunger and pain and homelessness and fear in our lifetime. It strikes me that this is always the risk in this kind of work – the feeling that your efforts are futile, only a drop of water in a big sea of trouble. And that you might become overwhelmed.

It is very easy to become overwhelmed by the needs of the world.

And so it is a challenge for us to continue working toward something that we fear we won’t be able to achieve, trying to solve a problem we doubt we can solve. As people of faith, the challenge we face is to continue working toward goals that seem impossible. The hard thing is to keep your eyes open, to not avert your gaze from the needs of the world. The danger is falling into an abyss of despair.

The only remedy for despair is hope.

The committee of Presbyterian Women who worked together to award the grants this year chose the text from Jeremiah to guide them and strengthen them, because it is a message about hope.

Jeremiah is sometimes known as the weeping prophet. He didn’t quite embrace the call to prophecy with enthusiasm. He was called by God as a young man, and it has occurred to me that Jeremiah might have had some plans of his own at that time – plans that would be scrapped because God had different plans for him.

Jeremiah was anointed as a prophet to the people of Judah, during very turbulent times. The nation was at risk. If you read the prophetic speeches of Jeremiah in his book, you get the clear impression that their problems were largely self-inflicted. They had failed to uphold the law of God. They had failed to care for the neediest among them. They had grown too materialistic, they idolized wealth and power, their religion had become too superficial and self-serving.

In short, they had lost the foundation of their identity, the strength of their convictions, and they floundered.

Eventually, Jerusalem was conquered by the powerful Babylonian army. The people were taken as hostages, away from their home, into Babylon. In their exile, it seems there were some false prophets who rose up among them. These false prophets proclaimed that the exile would be short, that they would soon be returned to their homeland and all would be well. But Jeremiah knew it wouldn’t be so, and he know the people would not be well-served by these false hopes. So he wrote them a letter.

Jeremiah told them to build houses to live in, plant gardens to eat from, and raise children. He told them to take wives for their sons and give their daughters in marriage. He told them to seek the welfare of the place where God has sent them. In other words, expect to be there awhile.

Jeremiah prophesied that it would be 70 years before the Lord would come to them, and only then would bring them back to their home, Jerusalem. 70 years.

“I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” These are the words of the Lord to the people of Israel while they are in exile. God has plans for them, but will take about 70 years, that is to say, a lifetime to bring them about. So build your houses, plant your gardens, raise your children and expect grandchildren in your exile. I am making you a promise, but it will be your grandchildren who will see the promise fulfilled.

It is a message that speaks directly to Israel in exile, but it speaks just as well to all people in all times and places. We must live our lives, care for one another, tend our gardens now, while holding fast to our faith in God who holds out before us a future with hope and healing.

We know that our individual gifts and works cannot meet every need. But we believe that when we are faithful in our efforts God works through us. That when our desires are in tune with God’s desires for the world, God will bring us together to accomplish things – things that do make a difference.

We see it happen. Each of the grants awarded is given to a project that is already underway. These are efforts that people have already begun working on, and the Presbyterian Women are making it possible for them to do more. And it all begins in the local congregations, where individuals put their checks into an envelope to give a thank offering to the Lord.

We know that we can work together to show God’s care for people who need that care.

We do this work because it is the church’s work. It is foundational to our identity to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, befriend the immigrant. To work for peace is the work of the church.

We do it because this is what we learn from the entirety of the scriptures, both Old and New Testaments. We do it because when we remember who we are, and whose we are, we know that this is what we are about.

We do it even though we don’t expect the results we want to see. Like the exiles in Babylon, we know that we probably won’t see the things we hope for in our lifetime. But just like the exiles in Babylon, we hope that our grandchildren might.

So we do it for love – love for those who have come before who taught us how to give, love for those who labor in the vineyards with us today, love for the poor ones God has put in our midst, and love for the generations to come. And, as the scriptures say:

“Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord.”

May we remember who we are.

May we know the plans God has for us, for our welfare, for a future with hope.

May we seek the Lord with all our heart, in the confidence that we will find God.

Photo: Noah's Thank Offering. By Ester Almqvist - Per-Åke Persson / Nationalmuseum, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=52133140

A Cheerful Giver

2 Corinthians 9:6-15  

Luke21:1-4       

I remember an autumn Sunday from many years ago when I sat in the pews of my church, and the pastor stepped into the pulpit.  It was the custom at that time for the pastor to make the announcements of the church right before the sermon.  He began with an announcement about the budget.  At that time in my life I paid zero attention to budget matters, but apparently there were some financial difficulties, budget shortfall, if you can imagine such a thing.  I only half listened, but at some point I noticed that his announcement was running really long. 

About 20 minutes later he stopped talking.  He acknowledged rather sheepishly that he had spent too much time on the announcements and would forgo his sermon rather than make us suffer through another 20 minutes of him talking. The congregation laughed, he wrapped up with a prayer, and that was that.  But you know what? I always suspected that it was intentional.  His message that day, disguised in an announcement, was about giving.  Our message today, on this Stewardship Sunday, is also about giving.  But I won’t be so subtle; I will tell you up front.  And I do so with gratitude to those who have taught me how important it is to speak freely about giving.

There is an old story about two men marooned on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean. One of them is frantic, filled with despair. The other is relaxed. He says, “Hey don’t worry.  I know my church will find us.  I haven’t paid my pledge yet.”

There are plenty of funny stories about the church and money – the idea being that the church is too fixated on money.  Some people think the church talks about money way too much.  But I disagree.  I think we probably don’t talk about money enough in the church.  Given that the Bible has well over 2,000 verses about money, given that Jesus raised the issue more than any other subject except the kingdom of God, given that money is one of the most important aspects of our lives and how we use it reflects our priorities and our values, I would say, no, we don’t talk about money enough.

We are afraid we will embarrass one another or infringe on someone’s privacy by talking about money.  We are afraid of offending one another by asking too much.  We have tacitly agreed to leave the subject of money off the table, as though it had nothing to do with our spiritual lives. 

There is a story about a Sunday school teacher who asks her class of 8-year-olds, “Who would give a million dollars to our missionaries?” and all the children cried, “I would!”  Then she asked, “Would you give a thousand dollars?” and they all said, “Yes!”  “How about a hundred dollars?”  “Yes! Yes!”  “Would you give just one dollar to the missionaries?”  Again, they cried out yes – except for Johnnie, who suddenly put his hand over his pocket.  The teach looked at him and asked, “Johnnie, why didn’t you say yes?”  Johnnie said, “Well … I HAVE a dollar.”

We have a harder time talking about money is because it touches us where we live.  But may I say that the gospel is meant to touch us deeply, in all aspects of where and how and why we live.  We see this so clearly in the story of the widow’s mite. 

Jesus is with his disciples in the temple in Jerusalem, and he watches the wealthy giving their gifts to the treasury.  Impressive amounts, perhaps.  But then he watches a poor widow putting in her two pennies, which were worth almost nothing.  Yet “this poor widow has put in more than all of them,” Jesus says, for she has given all she had. 

I have read that those pennies she put in the treasury were worth 1/64 of a daily wage at the time.  I tried to work out what that means.  If we say a work day is 8 hours, then this is 7 ½ minutes’ worth of work.  Not much, and yet, we are told, it is all she has.  That is how little this widow has.

The story reminds me of a vacation Kim and I took to Mexico City about 30 years ago.  It was a time when the Mexican economy was in ruins. The peso was practically worthless.  And it was this fact that made the vacation possible for us.  We didn’t have much money at the time, but the very favorable exchange rate allowed us to live like royalty for a few days, staying in the nicest hotels, eating in the best restaurants.  It was lovely! But we were surrounded by poverty.  Everywhere we went, there were women sitting in the streets, head down, hand raised in a begging posture.  There were swarms of young children wandering through the city sidewalks selling chiclets for something like 5 pesos, which was literally worth a fraction of a U.S. penny.  We bought their chiclets and gave them handfuls of coins.  We watched their faces light up as if they had won the lottery.  It made us feel good.  But we knew it cost us absolutely nothing.

Kim and I were the wealthy ones who strode into the temple and gave to the treasury enough to impress but not so much that it would hurt, not one little bit. 

The important question is, are we willing to sacrifice for the sake of the gospel?

We hear in the letter to the Corinthians that the one who sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.  Paul reminds them that God supplies the seed to the sower, and that they will be enriched in every way for their generosity.  Paul, too, like Jesus, lifts up those who have given generously, even through their affliction and their poverty.  And for them the grace of God, the blessings of God, will be granted in abundance. But do not be left with the impression that this is a system of rewards for our good behavior.

The point Paul is making is that the act of giving generously is the evidence of God’s grace in one’s life – grace that is always given freely.  What does that say, then, about a refusal to give generously?  This is why Christian giving is said to reveal the spiritual condition of our hearts.  Refusal to give, reluctance to give, may be a sign of spiritual ill health.  Spiritually healthy Christians reflect the generosity of God who is always giving. 

Paul writes to the Corinthian church that they must give as they have made up their minds to give, “not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”  It may feel a stretch to imagine giving until it hurts and being cheerful about it, but the important point is that our giving to God is a free act.  The sacrifice we make is a free act of giving up something good for the sake of something of far greater worth. 

Each of you must give as you have made up your mind to give.  God gives us the freedom of this choice.  This year our stewardship team has challenged each member to consider increasing your pledge by 10%.  Some of you recall that last year the stewardship team also asked you to consider increasing your pledge by 10% and you may be raising your eyebrows at the idea that they would again ask you to make an increase. Where is the limit, you might ask.

Of course, the answer to that question is between you and God. We are simply being asked by our stewardship team to consider the possibility. Do you have room in your life to give more? Some of you will say no, because you are already giving sacrificially. Others will pray and search themselves, coming to the realization that they can increase their giving, that there is room for more – possibly even more than 10%.

Last year, when the stewardship team asked us to consider making a 10% increase in our giving, Kim and I decided that we could, so we did. This year, we considered the request and decided that we could once again increase our pledge by 10%. I tell you this so you will know that I would not ask you to do anything that I am not willing to do. There may very well come a time when we will have to say no. That we will have to make a smaller increase or even no increase. But we will ask the question: what has God enabled us to give?

Again, God gives you the freedom to decide.  No one should feel pressured or guilted into doing more than they feel able to do.  As Paul wrote, each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.

Are you getting tired of that phrase yet?

For a slight variation on this verse from Paul’s letter, listen to these words from The Message: “I want each of you to take plenty of time to think it over, and make up your own mind what you will give.  That will protect you against sob stories and arm-twisting.  God loves it when the giver delights in the giving.”

Today we are invited to bring our pledges for the coming year and dedicate them to God.  We pledge our funds not just to support the church budget but to delight in the giving.  Out of gratitude for the life that we have in Jesus Christ, and the Spirit who invites us into that life more deeply every day.  Out of love for the world that needs our ministry of compassion now more than ever. 

Let us give thanks to God for God’s indescribable gift and let us give with glad hearts. 

Photo: Chiclets. By Coolshans - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44541577

For Those Who Want Answers, Let Us Pray

Job 19:23-27       

Luke 20:27-38    

When I was a young child, I have been told, I asked questions all the time. “Why” questions. It drove my mother crazy. She felt like she had this little mosquito following her around, buzzing in her ear night and day. Why? Why? Why? It was like a form of torture that she would try to endure, offering answers as best she could, but eventually she would cave and say, “I don’t know.”

She didn’t have all the answers like I expected her to. Later, I got married and I transferred all my hopes and expectations to my wise husband. I asked Kim all my questions, but it turned out he didn’t have all the answers either. I have spent much of my life pestering the people closest to me with unanswerable questions. 

I might be an unusually irritating person, but doesn’t everybody want to have answers to the mysteries of life? We want to understand how and why things work the way they do, in heaven and on earth. Like these Sadducees in Luke 20, questioning Jesus.

If you’re not too clear about who the Sadducees were, it’s because we don’t talk about them nearly as much as the Pharisees. But one thing we know about them, because Luke tells us so right here, is that they do not believe in a resurrection. Life after death.

Someone once shared with me a little memory device for remembering the difference between the Pharisees and the Sadducees. It goes like this: The Pharisees believed in the resurrection of the dead, but the others didn’t, so they were sad, you see. You see? Don’t say I never gave you anything.

The resurrection was one thing the Pharisees and the Sadducees disagreed on, but there were other things. The Sadducees were, you might say, the originalists of the time. They maintained that the written law – that is, the collection of laws written in the Torah – is the only law. Nothing could be taken from it or added to it. And it must be interpreted literally. The Pharisees, on the other hand, seemed to regard the law as something like a living thing, that needed to be continually examined and reinterpreted. But for the Sadducees, it was carved in stone. Literally and figuratively.

So on this particular day Luke writes about in chapter 20, the Sadducees approached Jesus about the vexing question of marriage in the so-called hereafter. Assuming that there is a hereafter. They come at him with a complex hypothetical that reminds me of a word problem in a math textbook. 

Their question is based on the written law of Moses, of course. If a man dies leaving his wife childless, his brother is obligated to take his deceased brother’s widow as his wife so she may have children. But if he also dies, still leaving her childless, then the next brother must marry her. And so it goes, as long as there be brothers to marry, as long as she remains childless. You’ve heard of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers? This is the Bible version: One Bride for Seven Brothers.

The point of their question, I suppose, it to prove to Jesus that the idea of life after death just didn’t make sense. Because they couldn’t work out the details. This was a math problem with no solution. They were stumped, and they were betting that this problem was going to stump Jesus too.

It’s like a trial of Jesus and his teachings. Jesus had one conviction, the Sadducees had a different conviction, and they intended to battle it out with words in an improvised court of law. This is how the court trial worked in Israel: One side would speak, presenting their arguments. Then the other side would speak, critiquing their arguments and presenting their counter-arguments. And so it would go, back and forth. Until one side could offer no further defense. Hence, the last one to speak would be the winner.

The thing to hope for, strive for, in a trial of this kind, would be to have all the answers, so many answers that the other side would run out of questions.

And then you run up against a four-year-old with an endless capacity for questioning.

The Sadducees of the world, the inquisitive children of the world, and the Jobs of the world; all want answers about the seemingly inexplicable, sometimes terrible things that happen in life. 

In the book of Job we see some of those terrible, horrible things that can happen in life, things that seem to make no sense. Job loses his children, his livestock, his home, his health – just about everything. And then he climbs out of the wreckage of his life and starts demanding answers.

Job had been raised to believe that if he lived a careful and righteous life, he would reap the rewards; that good fortune follows goodness, and bad fortune befalls the wicked. Job knows quite well that he has not been wicked, because he is a careful, reflective man. He has been obedient in the law, scrupulous in his piety, and up to now, enjoyed all the blessings he had accrued. He has done nothing to deserve this ill fortune, so now he is searching for the complaint department.

His friends are more than glad to step right up. They will pull up a stool, listen to all his complaints and then cheerfully tell him that, in spite of what he thinks to be true, there is no question, whatsoever, that all this harm has come to him solely because of his own transgressions. They don’t know what those transgressions were – they haven’t the slightest idea – but they know that, as sure as night follows day, punishment follows sin. And it’s as clear as anything that Job is being punished – for something.

But Job simply won’t accept that. His friends might be full of theological knowledge, but their answers don’t ring true for Job. He knows he did not deserve to suffer so greatly. He knows it in his bones. And so, therefore, Job knows that everything he always believed about divine rewards and punishments cannot be true. 

There is so much at stake here. Sometimes people lose their faith over matters like this. Sometimes your beliefs, which have been so solid for you all your life, suddenly crack and crumble because a tragedy happens. Those things that you know with certainty, with clarity, that you have etched in stone, don’t hold up. The logic is no longer there; the math doesn’t work.

Job’s friends recognize all that is at stake, so they just keep arguing. Here too, it’s almost like a trial. Every time Job offers a long-winded answer to their assertions, his friends come right back with their own just-as-long-winded responses. They simply can’t give it up, because of what is at risk: the conviction that there is a good God in heaven. In this trial, God is the defendant.

Job’s friends won’t give up on God. But what’s really interesting is that Job feels the same way. Job won’t give up on God. But neither will he give up his position. He knows he doesn’t deserve all this suffering. And he cannot accept that a good God would punish him for something he didn’t do. No. He has not turned away from God, but Job is demanding answers. And he says:

I know that my redeemer lives. And that, at the last, he will stand on earth. And I will see God, who is on my side. 

A greater faith there never was.

I never really got over my tendency to ask too many questions. I annoy my family, myself, and probably God, with my incessant questions. What? Why? How? And I had a kindred spirit at one time. My father-in-law, Peter, was also a questioner. 

He was a pastor for most of his life. He preached with the sure conviction of faith, but still had questions, always questions. I will never forget a conversation we had one evening, as he was drawing near to the end. We talked about eternal things – things both of us wondered about, things neither of us understood. I asked him if he ever argued with God. His eyes opened wide, he said, “Yes! All the time! And I always lose.” 

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “But I have a feeling that this time God is going to let me win.”

I know that my redeemer lives. And that, at the last, he will stand on earth. And I will see God, who is on my side.

What the story of Job tells us is that questioning is an integral part of faith. There is no way to have a strong and mature faith without having questions. But eventually, in our questioning, we run up against the awesome mystery of the divine.  

Faith seeks understanding. In fact, this is what faith is all about – seeking to know God, to encounter God. But never assume that you will solve the mystery of God, like a math problem. 

This is the essence of what Jesus wanted the Sadducees to know, too. Do not try to understand God in worldly terms. There is another realm altogether, one that we see now only through a glass darkly. 

And finally, after Jesus finished speaking, Luke writes this: Then some of the scribes answered, “Teacher, you have spoken well.” For they no longer dared to ask him another question.

They have encountered the mystery. The end of the trial.

The Sadducees of the world, the Jobs of the world, even the curious little children of the world – perhaps you see yourself in these. Let us not be discouraged in our questioning. But merely encouraged to open our minds wider, to live with the tension of beliefs and ideas, to embrace the mystery of love. 

Photo Credit: Shutterstock/Elizaveta Galitckaia 

The Blessing and the Woe

Luke 6:20-31      

This week our book discussion group gathered together to talk about the most recent book we have read: Ordinary Grace. A man named Frank looks back on one particular summer in his childhood. 1961 in a small town in Minnesota. He was 13 years old, his brother Jake was 9. And in that summer, they confronted death for the first time.

It wasn’t as though they knew nothing of death, actually. Their father was a minister, and they had been to plenty of viewings and funerals in their childhood already. But this summer was different. There were four deaths for these young boys: lives taken by tragic accident, by violence, by unknown causes. Four deaths they met at close proximity. All four, lives taken too soon.

And throughout the story there is the question of faith – and grace. How does faith carry us through times of loss? How does God’s grace bless us in such times?

The experience of loss is one of the inevitable elements of human life. No matter who you are. No matter how much your life might be characterized by blessing, no matter how much it might be characterized by woe.

No matter who you are, you will know loss.

The experience of pain is something that comes to all of us – physical, spiritual, emotional. We will all, at some time, have the need for relief, for healing, for comfort.

Here is a dimension where life is leveled out. You know it when you go to a hospital. The rich, the poor, the young and the old. No one is exempt. There isn’t necessarily a hierarchy for suffering. We all share it in common.

And this was the make up of the crowd that gathered around Jesus that day Luke writes about in chapter 6. There was a great multitude of people who came to Jesus – to hear him, to be healed by him, to be rid of the unclean spirits that troubled them. So he came down to a level place to be amidst them – all of them. the blessed and the woeful.

The weeping and the laughing, the hated and the admired, the rich and the poor, the full and the hungry. Everyone who had need were there. They were all represented in the crowd that day.

They have to be there. Because Jesus is speaking to all of them.

I think perhaps when we read the list of blessings and woes in these verses we try to locate ourselves in them, and the people we know. Who am I? Am I one of the poor who can look forward to seeing the kingdom of God, or am I one of the rich who has already received my consolation? Am I one of the hungry who will, someday, be filled, or am I one of the full who will be hungry? The crying or the laughing? The reviled or the respected? 

And I have to say, in these forced-choice questions I don’t know if any of them are all that appealing. You know? 

Would you like your reward now or later? Yes, please. Thank you.

But perhaps the reality of this scene is that you can’t sort the people into these groups – the blessed on the right, the woeful on the left. Because they are all together there in their need, their urgent need for Jesus.

Picture this scene. A great multitude gathered on a level place, a plain. All of them after the same thing, all of them pressing against one another. There is no way of sorting them into categories, they are all one – one mass of humanity. And Jesus steps down into the middle of it. To be among the blessed and the woeful.

All of them, no matter how blessed are how woeful they feel, need something. Comfort, healing, wholeness, peace.

Perhaps Jesus wasn’t really contrasting two categories of people. Perhaps he was speaking to the truths that co-exist in every human life. Poverty and riches, tears and laughter, fullness and hunger, fellowship and loneliness.

In Ordinary Grace Frank looks back on that summer of 1961 from the vantage point of his years. In the beginning he tells the reader that, even though you might think that he would look back on that summer as tragedy, this was not the case. Yes, it was tragic in some ways. But there were also blessings, there were lessons, there were miracles.

The story he tells includes the stories of the deaths, but also the stories of love and unfolding glories; the stories of small triumphs, like when Frank gets the better of the town bully – but then also the fear of how the bully might get his vengeance. The story leaves sparks of light throughout, giving Frank and Jake glimpses of goodness where they had previously only seen ugliness; of weakness where they had only seen strength; of vulnerability where they had only seen toughness. All falling on Frank and Jake like little drops of grace. 

It is a story of growing up to learn that the world doesn’t allow the sorting of lives into categories of the blessed and the woeful, for each life is touched by both blessing and woe. And the miracle is that in the sorrows we sometimes even receive some blessing.

Trying not to reveal too much of the story, in case you want to read it yourselves – and I strongly encourage you to read it.  Let me tell you this one more thing. At the end of the story we catch up with Frank as a mature man, as he describes the Memorial Day ritual he, Jake, and their father carry out each year. They all gather at the cemetery in that small town where they lived in the summer of 1961. They carry with them lavish amounts of flowers, for all the graves they will decorate – a multitude of lives they will remember. The dearly beloved, those whom they were close to; the man whose name they didn’t even know – an itinerant whose body was found near the river where the boys liked to play; the ones whom they might have felt some responsibility for; and the town bully – the one who tormented them throughout their childhood, about whom they discovered only at his death just how alone he was in his life.

We are all, every one of us, among the blessed and the woeful. As the writer of Ecclesiastes says, there is a time for every purpose under heaven – a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. We will all walk through all these things, and we are all in this together.

There is no better place to discover this than in church, where we gather together to celebrate our joys and hold one another up in our grief. We share tears and we help each other see the glimpses of blessing to be found everywhere. We sing and laugh together – and sometimes even dance – all of this in some melding together of delight and wistfulness.

We are all together in this, and Jesus is right here with us too. On that day when a great multitude clamored to reach him, he stepped down onto the plain to be right in there with them. 

He is always right here with us too.

Photo Credit: Bibleplaces.com