A God Who Chuckles

Scripture readings for worship today (February 25, 2024) included the story of Abraham and Sarah. Those who were in worship with me on a similar Sunday in 1980 let me know today that they still recall the big laugh that happened that day, as our new mission start congregation met in the local funeral home. From my Parson Ponders column which followed in 1980. BTW, it was "Bub", not "brother."
 

Over my lifetime, Good Friday has come to mean to me the piercing, bleeding, sobbing realization that we are (I am) incapable of (and even, at times, flaunting of) the life of peace, beauty, love, and harmony that we (I) say we (I) want in better and higher moments. We are broken and cannot put the pieces back together again. We have given in to hopelessness and accepted the status quo.

Over my lifetime, Good Friday has come to mean to me the promise of rich, red rivulets oozing from a thorn pierced scalp, snaking their way over pain creased forehead, filling a brow to overflowing, before spattering on the freshly disturbed sand below, each droplet asking me {us} to let the truth sink in that this is love: unstoppable, freely given, all-powerful love …. Given and shed for you (me). 

Over my lifetime, I have begun to come to the understanding that Good Friday is an invitation to love and forgiveness, for me, and for you, for every friend and foe, for those who drove the spikes home on that dark day, and for all those whose broken, hurtful lives are laid out before us in the news each day.

Thank you, lovely, bleeding, dripping, pouring, Jesus. May your unyielding, freeing love help us to begin to pick up the pieces, to live with ourselves, to live better and more hopefully with those we love, and to begin helping to put some of the broken pieces of this fractured world together again.

The Parson Ponders: Subdued Light

 

As I began my morning rounds today, testing out how well my neuropathy compromised feet were going to cooperate today, I became transfixed by this old maple tree. Today, in the subdued light, it practically glows. Isn't it strange that, in the subdued light, you can see more of it, including the interior of the tree, better than when the sun shines brightly? In full sunlight, we can easily see the most prominent leaves, but they cast shadows that obscure the inside of the tree. But on this gray, rainy day, there are no shadows. All parts are equally illumined. As I turned around and walked to the mailbox to fetch the newspaper, I wondered: perhaps dark and gray times such as we are going through now help us to see our world more clearly, what is most important, what we truly cherish, who we have ignored, who and what has been hidden in the shadows. Gospel stories of loving one another and caring for the hurting make more sense. I still love the sunshine, but I can learn a lot from the overcast times and grow in its subdued light.

Good Friday Pansies

My friend, Jean, is using her home time to go through her "saved clippings" file. She just sent me this one, my Parson Ponders column from 1997. That was the year my mother died on Good Friday. It's Good Friday again, and it is a day that is still about death .. and life.

The Parson Ponders: Good Friday Pansies

Something very strange happens when someone we love dies. As soon as the death occurs, we begin counting up all the reasons why we should be thankful, in spite of the blackness of the moment. It's our way of holding back death, keeping it at bay, caging it in so that it can't go any farther than it has already gone.

We begin trying to chip away at it, bringing it down to a more manageable size. Like Paul, we're reluctant to concede that death has won: "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" (1 Cor15:55 NRSV)

I'm becoming more of an expert than I wanted to be on this count since my mother, Norma, died suddenly on Good Friday. She hadn't told us of any health problems, and in fact, she got the turkey out to thaw and was planning to spend Good Friday planting pansies in the planters around her patio pond to brighten the family's Easter celebration. She surely knew how to make a festive occasion.

As she sat on the couch after breakfast and planned out her day, a massive stroke ushered her out of this life and into the next.

Though the emergency squad arrived at the house in only minutes, and though the hospital kept the body alive with the aid of a respirator for a few hours until the family assembled, my mother actually died quickly there on the couch. As the breathing tube was removed and we watched the very quiet and peaceful closing of an earthly life, already an easter celebration was trying to erupt and break through the darkness. Already we were beginning to give thanks. Already we were beginning to chip away at the power of death.

There was -- there is -- so much to be thankful for: almost 80 years of a full, robust life with very little sickness and doctoring, almost no suffering, a quick and peaceful passing, 57 years of marriage with my father, 3 good kids who cherish family and God and make a contribution to the world around them, loving daughters-in-law and grandkids who this grammy couldn't stop talking about.

My mother was a generous caregiver for her parents and brothers and sister and their extended families. She had a strong faith and was a leader and organizer of several ministries in our home congregation. One of the most touching acts of kindness after her death was the pots of azaleas sent by 30 or so of the flock who had been part of the church youth group a number of years ago when my mother and father served as youth sponsors. And she had a way with flowers. People driving by my parents' home would often stop in to ask if they could look at the flowers growing in the yard.

Even though we put up a valiant front at chipping away at death, we're not very good at it. We feel a lot like the people of Grand Forks, North Dakota trying to build up our sandbags to hold the flood back, knowing that the flood is too big and powerful.

But in the end, we don't really have to be very good chippers. As Paul says: "But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 1 Cor 15:57 What wonderful news to hear the victory cry again on Easter morning that "He is Risen" after the blackness of Good Friday.

We're still doing our part. We're still chipping away. On Holy Saturday, we planted my mother's pansies for her. And every day, we recall more things for which to give thanks. But mostly, we're just clinging to the good news of Easter that "He is risen" and that he has gone ahead to prepare a place for us.

Who's sitting in the corner?

I've been on a search for this picture, now found, for months. I enlisted daughter Amanda in the search too. And after several weeks, she found it!

I don't know why I became so fixated on it. It only serves to make me look foolish, but then, maybe it's good to have a reality check from time to time.

The picture was snapped in 2003 when our family was on our first-ever California vacation. We were in the Sonoma Valley, touring wineries and sampling their wines.

At Foppiano Vineyards, I let the rest of the gang go up to the sampling bar, and I hung around back. I was driving.

That's when I noticed this old codger, sitting alone in a chair in a corner in the back. I felt a little sorry for him. To me, he looked kind of lonely and out of place. So, jumping to conclusions, I thought I would do him a favor and strike up a conversation. We pastors usually know how to do that. I gave him my very best pastor chit-chat. Wasn't that nice of me to do that.

Eventually, I asked him what he did for a living before he retired. He said, "Did you ever hear of something called Continental Airlines?" "Sure, " I said. He came back, "Well, I helped found it." Whoa....What? ... Reality-check!!! I surely underestimated this man!

Since that moment, my research tells me that this man, Louis J Foppiano, was indeed best friends with the man usually credited with starting Continental Airlines. What he didn't mention that day was that, when he was 14 years old, his father died, and from that time on, he and his mother managed and grew the Foppiano Winery. He continued to oversee the winery into his nineties. He died in 2012 at age 101. He was afforded much acclaim at his passing.

We did wise up enough to ask if we could have a picture with him. He was very gracious. I haven't been that off base on someone since the time, early in my ministry, when I spent 15 minutes chatting with an "ordinary" man without realizing I was talking with the president of General Motors.

No, I take it back. I'm sure I have missed the mark most by missing the treasure of the truly ordinary people we meet every day who are really the greatest treasures in disguise, people like Jesus noted: the widow adding her 2 coins in the treasury box, or the children trying to make their way to Jesus. I am thankful whenever Jesus gives me new eyes! Treasures abound!

Forecast: CLOUDY

CLOUDY!

I confess that November is not one of my favorite months.  To me, it always seems that November is the bearer of the grim truth that those friendly days of warmth, beauty, Sunshine and being outside have a terminal disease and are ready for hospice. 

When I think of November, I hear Gordon Lightfoot singing about "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"  "when the skies of November turn gloomy." 

And when I think of November, I think of clouds, gray clouds, pervasive clouds, clouds that are like a ceiling ever lowering on me, ushering in my first taste of it getting dark before it's time for supper.  

Yup, you can always count on your pondering parson to lift your spirits!  Before you simply sign your name to this article and leave it for your suicide note, let me make a stab at lifting my spirits and yours.

Let's talk about clouds.  

Even though clouds are "downers" for us, clouds are often painted as "uppers" in the Bible.  It was a cloud that God used to lead the people in the wilderness.   "The LORD went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way,"  Exodus 13:21 

The Lord's presence is often signified by a cloud: "And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the LORD appeared in the cloud." Exodus 16:10 

Moses met God in a cloud on Mt. Sinai: "The glory of the LORD settled on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days; on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the cloud." Exodus 24:16 

God often speaks in a cloud:  "Then the LORD came down in the cloud and spoke to him, and took some of the spirit that was on him and put it on the seventy elders;" Numbers 11:25 

Nor should we forget that glorious experience Jesus and the disciples had on the mountain of the transfiguration: "While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!'" Matthew 17:5 

And remember how Jesus left our earth?  "When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight." Acts 1:9 

Jesus even told us that a cloud would figure in his return: "Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory." Luke 21:27 

But the very best cloud to think about in November is the one that is mentioned in Hebrews 12:1  "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,"

On All Saints Sunday, we remembered the great cloud of witnesses that surround us.  

It's November again. It's CLOUDY! Seems like the clouds have just settled in and engulfed us. Clouds are a good thing to give thanks for come Thanksgiving too. I'm guessing that at most Thanksgiving tables, with the family gathered around for the annual feast, we can't help but think about all those who have shared this meal with us in the past who are now in a different realm. They are part of that great cloud of witnesses and they are cheering for us to "run with perseverance the race that is set before us,"

God is good, even when, especially when,  it is cloudy.

Is This How You Come To Us, Jesus?

A few years ago, lying in bed, sleep subsiding and yet not quite awake, a simple tune began burrowing into my consciousness. It played.... and it played again. And again. 

Next day and the next, same thing. Strange! And it persisted. 

After a time, I could hum the tune when I woke up. I decided to see if I could hum it and add some guitar chords. The chords presented themselves in a matter of minutes. 

Eventually, in my waking slumber, I began putting words to the tune. They rolled out quickly as well. 

Christmas was coming. An invitation was extended for Christmas Eve special music numbers at St John/St Paul Church. Christmas words were beginning to align themselves with my slumber tune.

So the song emerged. I sang it that Christmas Eve.

I've decided to post a recording of it I made with my daughter Amanda. A little scary to post a home made song when you're not a song writer, and it's not hard to see where the presentation could improve, but I must say, I do like the message. The words connect what happened in Bethlehem with what happens with us. It talks about Jesus intertwining his life with ours. It testifies that we often see Jesus most clearly in the dark moments and in the humble moments in our lives. And it affirms that Christmas is all about God's love for us!

We have been through some very dark and humbling moments this year, just the kinds of times when we can expect to see Jesus and his surprising love for us. 

https://youtu.be/jNSNSATv6-0

"Is This How You Come To Us, Jesus?"

Words and music by Pastor Tim Keeler

Stable light,

Glowing light,

Darkest night

Angel flight

Manger bed,

Cows were fed,

Cradled head,

Love was said.

In a stable musty

A child, a shepherd must see,

Joseph came, he did not flee,

Mary answered, "Let it be."

Is this how you come to us, Jesus?

Is this how our lives intertwine?

In dark and humble moments

Your love begins to shine.

Shepherds doing what they do,

Passing time without a clue,

Soon to learn that all is new,

Angels grace the scruffy few.

Now we sense this gleaning:

Our God, who gives all meaning,

From heav'n to earth is leaning,

In flesh, intervening.

Is this how you come to us, Jesus?

Is this how our lives intertwine?

In dark and humble moments

Your love begins to shine.

We welcome you here blessed Jesus.

We welcome you into our lives.

Like shepherds and Joseph and Mary,

We welcome your surprise.

Gloria in excelsis!