Sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent: "Hard to Get"

The gospel according to Matthew.    Glory to you, O Lord.

    When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

    As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’ Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he."

The gospel of the Lord.    Praise to you, O Christ.

    "He emerged from the metro at the L’Enfant Plaza Station and positioned himself against a wall beside a trash basket. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play. 

    It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant….

…No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made.” “Pearls Before Breakfast”  Gene Weingarten, Washington Post, 8 April 2007.

Sermon for the 8th Sunday after Pentecost - Matthew 14.22-33 - "Ready for the Storm"

            In the mid-1990s I worked five summers at Carol Joy Holling Camp, a Lutheran church camp in Nebraska.  Toward the end of my time there, our program director became enamored of the works of John Ortberg, particularly a book entitled If You Want To Walk On Water, You Have To Get Out Of The Boat.  I will admit to being a sucker for a clever book title, particularly when it comes to books about the church.  Some of my favorites are Sacred Cows Make Great Hamburgers and When Bad Christians Happen To Good People.  But as much as I admire Ortberg’s title, and as much as I admire my program director, there has always been one assumption made by this title that has bothered me:  who said anything about any of us wanting to walk on water? 

Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Epiphany - "God-Centered Life"

            I hung a BC comic strip on the door of my study at my last call, in Minnesota.  When we moved, I accidentally ripped it in half, and without thinking I just threw it away.  Now I can’t find it online, but I remember that it said, “ser-mon: An inspired message directed mainly at those who are not in attendance.”  It’s been informing how I preach ever since I first read it, laughed out loud, and then winced. 

Exercise Evangelism

I have been having an evangelism experience at the gym lately.

I've struggled with back pain off and on for the past two years, and I'm finally mostly pain-free after well over a year of physical therapy, chiropractic care and essentially taking better care of my body.  About two months ago, I was sharing my struggle with Michelle, our kick-ass spin instructor who has fought cancer and won over the past year (you have no idea what a simpering little weenus you are until you watch a bald woman lead your spin class with a chemo port in her arm).  As we were talking about juggling parenthood, vocations, exercise and all the other important stuff in our lives, she said, "Hey, we've got this new class starting called Centergy - you should give it a shot!  It sounds like it could be just what you need."

My friend Rachel doing yoga at her family's former vacation home in Florida.
Rachel has been pushing me to do yoga for months and will hopefully be happy I'm finally taking her advice (somewhat).

So, last Friday I gave it a whirl.  Centergy is a combination of yoga, pilates and other stuff set to music.  You come in, lay out your mat, and proceed to spend the next hour stretching, working, and sweating.  At least, that's what I did.  It was the weirdest thing:  I never moved more than four feet in any one direction, but by the end of the hour my shirt was drenched and I was in heaven.  Was Michelle ever right - the class worked all the muscles my PT and chiropractor identified as trouble spots for me, and since it was a class where everyone was trying to do the poses, I didn't get that dreaded feeling of "oh, shit, I look like a total fool flopping around on this mat in the weight room."

Tuesday night, Beloved and I both had time free to exercise together, so I suggested we go to another Centergy class.  I had an even better experience than the first, and Beloved liked it as well.  I've pretty much decided that the Tuesday night and Friday afternoon sessions at our gym are going to be added to my regular exercise rotation.

Now, here's where the evangelism part comes in.  Some of my blogger friends have been visiting the topic lately, and I think they've presented some valuable insight.  I think they've covered why we (the ELCA) aren't particularly good at evangelism, but here I'd like to offer some thoughts on how we could be better.

1. Evangelism addresses the need of the evangelized, not the need of the church.  My friend Michelle wasn't teaching that particular Centergy class, nor was she going to receive a commission if I attended.  She had no thought of her own reward for getting me to sign up:  what she saw was my need for something new and a way our gym could provide it.  Our most effective (and, dare I say, most holy) evangelism comes when our concern is for our neighbor, not our church.  Evangelism driven by the need of the congregation cheapens the gift of the gospel by offering the holy community for the sake of its own benefit, which seems far too much like prostitution for my comfort.  
2. Effective evangelists listen and hear before speaking.  Michelle didn't break into our conversation with some sort of ham-handed script extolling the benefits of Centergy.  We were talking, as friends, and she heard and understood what I was saying before mentioning the class.  It felt natural and good because it was natural and good.  If the church is to be trustworthy in a post-Christendom environment, it starts by listening to others for the sake of their own story, not that of the church.  Yes, the church has a good story to share, a wonderful story, but the evangelizing moment is not the moment to unload it all on the evangelized.  A simple acknowledgment that "hey, I've heard what you're saying" creates a bond of trust from the very start of the evangelized's relationship with the church - and that trust is essential to the life of the church itself.  
3. Effective evangelists believe they are offering a real, concrete benefit to the lives of the evangelized.  Again, Michelle didn't suggest the class because it's what she was "supposed" to do:  she offered the class because she thought it could help.  Our gym has a lot of other classes and programs, including a very spendy personal trainer program:  if Michelle's concern was helping the gym's bottom line, she could have done so a hundred times over in the year we've been going to spin class.  But Michelle saw that this class could directly address the very problem I was facing.  Is it so much to ask the same of the church?  Effective evangelists, having heard, offer a benefit that can contribute to the life of the evangelized.  In other words, they don't evangelize because the church needs people:  they evangelize because they believe something in the church can help people in their real, actual, present circumstances.  This is why "Bullhorn Guy" pisses me off:  he doesn't give a fart in a stiff wind about what your problems are now, since if you're hellbound anyway your abusive boyfriend or unemployment or addiction or concern for your kids doesn't matter (and chances are if those things don't matter before you join his church, they won't matter afterwards, either).

There are a few corollaries to these points as well.  First, we who are the church need to understand our role as givers, not receivers.  As Bonhoeffer wrote and others have affirmed, "the church is only the church when it exists for others."^[1]  When we use the term "effective" as an after-the-fact descriptor, we emphasize very clearly these are not techniques to develop so much as they are gifts embodied in the act itself.

Second, it is incumbent upon the church to actually offer real, concrete benefit in the here and now.  Life is no longer "nasty, brutish and short;" in fact, for most Americans, life is at the least pleasant, civilized and long.  Any remaining social pressure to join the church in order to be a member of "polite society" is dying a swift death.  These two forces have driven much of what passes for evangelism in the church for the past few centuries.  Now we live in a different world, where God, it seems, is humbling the church in order that it may serve the world in which it is planted.  All of us who read the Sermon on the Mount with a sense of delicious irony may now be realizing, to our horror, that Jesus wasn't being ironic at all.

There is a new reality afoot for the church, especially the mainline American Protestant tradition.  Our comfortable position as the de facto guardians of middle class morality and decency has been pulled from underneath us by a God who "takes by its corners this whole world and shakes us forward and shakes us free." (Rich Mullins)  This new reality may be uncomfortable for a while.  It may even feel like we're dying.  Some of our churches may indeed really die.  But death hasn't been a barrier to stop God in the past - why should the present, and God's future, be any different?

Grace & peace,

Scott 

^[1]Bonhoeffer, Dietrich.  Letters and Papers from Prison

Evening Prayer Sermon: "Gran Torino" and The Prodigal Son

[If you've not seen the movie Gran Torino, beware: SPOILER ALERT.]

I recently started an adult education class on the parable of the Prodigal Son at a local ELCA congregation, using Tim Keller's "The Prodigal God." In it, Keller insists, as do many, that the problem with both the elder son and the younger son is this: they want their father's things, but not a relationship with their father. I wasn't particularly convinced by Keller's argument until Beloved and I watched the movie Gran Torino this weekend.

There is really only one surprise in Gran Torino, and since it doesn't have to do with the point I'm making here, I won't ruin it for you. Clint Eastwood is a gruff, reclusive retired auto plant worker in Detroit, angry about all the "gooks" (his word, not mine - the movie makes it clear they are Hmong) taking over his neighborhood. One of his neighbors tries to steal his car as a gang initiation act, but when the gang members threaten the boy's family with violence on his own property, Clint chases them all away: "Get off my lawn!" His neighbors honor his courage by inviting him into their family, more or less, and Clint begins to see that these people aren't so different than himself once you get past the cultural distinctions. Meanwhile, his relationship with his own children suffers as they focus on "dealing" with him and his cantankerous nature. Two scenes in particular stand out: in the first, his granddaughter bluntly asks Clint if she can have his beautiful 1972 Ford Gran Torino when he dies; in the second, Clint's son and daughter-in-law use his birthday as a chance to try to wheedle him into a retirement home, only to be rudely thrown out of the house and told to mind their own damn business.

All of this is as obvious as the nose on your face - you can see things coming a mile away, mostly, I think, because the people who put this movie together know what it's like to be real, flawed, broken people. There's nothing particularly noble about what gets Clint involved, but once he knows his neighbors as actual people, he begins to care for them. Likewise, the wall between Clint and his kids is obviously the product of years of missed opportunities and disappointments, built one painful brick at a time, and it doesn't come down easily (or completely, even in the end). Clint Eastwood's character is a man who's done everything right for his family: earned a living, fought in Korea, provided for his children so they can have more than he had. In thanks he has two sons who drive Asian import vehicles on their rare visits to his house (paid for by wages earned at the Ford factory), grandkids who refuse to even come at all, and neighbors who bear a suspicious resemblance to the soldiers he killed in Korea. Life is most definitely not perfect, even for the virtuous.

Our virtues can be every last bit as sinful as our vices, and they are infinitely more dangerous because of their moral excellence. In the Wheel of Time series, author Robert Jordan wrote a character named Galad, who does what is right "no matter who he hurts." It would be so much easier if life were as neatly wrapped up as a fable from Aesop, but often there is no "moral of the story." We live one hour, one day, one week at a time, and the little chinks in the armor that lead to genuine love can just as easily be chinks that lead to a lot of pain and sorrow.

Jesus calls us to love, not to being morally excellent. It's an easy thing to forget, because the two quite often resemble each other. I know I've forgotten it in my own life: in the pursuit of being right, I've injured people I love, sometimes deeply. I know you have, too. We cannot go back and undo our past mistakes, but we can seek forgiveness and, more importantly, love our families and neighbors for who they are, right now.

Rich Mullins wrote a song called "Brother's Keeper." It might have done the two brothers of the parable some good to listen to it, especially the chorus:

I will be my brother's keeper, not the one who judges him -

I won't despise him for his weakness, I won't regard him for his strength -

I won't take away his freedom - I will help him learn to stand,

and I will be my brother's keeper.

May we be keepers of each other, now and forever. Amen.

Sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter: "Hard To Get"

You who live in heaven
Hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth
Who are afraid of being left by those we love
And who get hardened in the hurt

Do you remember when You lived down here where we all scrape
To find the faith to ask for daily bread
Did You forget about us after You had flown away
Well I memorized every word You said
Still I'm so scared, I'm holding my breath
While You're up there just playing hard to get

You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin
We have a love that's not as patient as Yours was
Still we do love now and then

Did You ever know loneliness
Did You ever know need
Do You remember just how long a night can get?
When You were barely holding on
And Your friends fall asleep
And don't see the blood that's running in Your sweat
Will those who mourn be left uncomforted
While You're up there just playing hard to get?

And I know You bore our sorrows
And I know You feel our pain
And I know that it would not hurt any less
Even if it could be explained

And I know that I am only lashing out
At the One who loves me most
And after I have figured this, somehow
What I really need to know

Is if You who live in eternity
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in time
We can't see what's ahead
And we can not get free from what we've left behind
I'm reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears
All these words of shame and doubt, blame and regret

I can't see how You're leading me unless You've led me here
To where I'm lost enough to let myself be led
And so You've been here all along I guess
It's just Your ways and You are just plain hard to get

“Hard to Get” by Rich Mullins,

recorded on The Jesus Record

© 1998 - Liturgy Legacy Music / Word Music / ASCAP

Thomas the Apostle would have understood what Rich was singing about. The Second Sunday of Easter always tells this story, mainly because the gospel tells us it happened a week after the Resurrection. Thomas was a complex character, to say the least. In John 14, when Jesus was preparing his disciples for the crucifixion, Thomas was the one who asked, "Jesus, where are you going?" Thomas is the one who wouldn’t say he understood when he didn’t understand. In John 11, when Jesus was going back to Bethany to bring his friend Lazarus out of the grave, the disciples knew that Jesus was putting Himself into harm's way. But Thomas was the only disciple who said: "Let us go to die with him." Thomas was the disciple who went 100% when he DID understand. In poker terms, Thomas was an "all-in" kind of disciple.

"I'll believe it when I see it!" This is the catchphrase of the skeptic. "Too good to be true" is another. And my all-time favorite, which appears on the internet as TANSTAAFL "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch." Skeptics are the reasonable ones among us who won't buy in until they've been completely convinced of the truth of a proposition. Thomas was not the only skeptic among the disciples. John 20 says the door was locked when Jesus first came to the disciples. Why was it locked? Because they were afraid. Why were they afraid? Because Jesus was dead. Every last one of them was a skeptic, and so are we. Jesus is in the business of turning us into recovering skeptics.[1]

"I see it when I believe it" is the cry of the recovering skeptic. It is revelation: The disciples, all of them, have finally seen Jesus in the way He intends to be seen; not as just some teacher, one of many prophets, a spiritual guru, but "MY LORD AND MY GOD!" They have seen. They believe. Life is changed forever.

In John's Gospel, the difference between light and darkness is not the difference between faith and doubt, as some have suggested. The difference between light and darkness is the difference between faith and fear. Doubting Thomas is not the problem in John 20: the fearful disciples huddled behind locked doors in the upper room are the problem.

The prophet Isaiah says, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”[2] Think, in your own life: what darkness holds you captive? What fear imprisons you behind locked doors? I’m certain the disciples felt abandoned by God – and I know you’ve felt this way before. The sad news is that you’ll feel that way again. Sin, whether it belongs to you or someone else, will find you. All of us will find ourselves wanting nothing more than a locked room and the company of close friends – to shut the world out so we can’t be hurt or deceived any more. It is into these locked rooms Jesus comes, bearing his scars and bestowing his peace.

"Peace be with you," Jesus says. When Jesus talks about peace, he means a different kind of peace. "Peace I leave with you," Jesus says, "I do not give to you as the world gives…If the world hates you, be aware that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. Because I have chosen you out of the world, the world hates you…I have said these things to you so that IN ME you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage, I have conquered the world." When we see the world through Jesus' eyes, we see that we are sent to give ourselves to the world as Jesus gave himself, fully and completely, with no reservation or fear. In John 14, Jesus gave his disciples a new commandment: love one another. We remember that commandment on Maundy Thursday, translated from the Latin mandatum: commandment. "By this everyone will know you are my disciples," Jesus says, "if you have love for one another."

"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe," Jesus says. This is not a condemnation of Thomas for his skepticism – this is a word for those who come after Thomas to see and hear, that we may remember that we are as blessed as Thomas the recovering skeptic. True, we have not seen Jesus with our physical eyes. But the apostle who wrote this gospel wrote it for us, that we may be blessed as Jesus said. Not only "come to believe," but "continue to believe." Anyone who has sincerely tried to be a follower of Jesus knows that it's not an easy thing to do. Instead of a gradual climb of holiness, where every step leads to a higher degree of sanctification, we find that following Jesus leads us down a narrow path that has bends and curves and hills and valleys. Like the old song goes, "Sometime the load is heavy, and sometimes the road is long, and sometimes, Lord, this heart of mine is not so very strong." But all along the road of faith, in all our moments of darkness and light, fear and faith, we have a good and loving Savior who submits Himself time and again to our need for reassurance and faith. Even in our darkest and most fear-filled anxieties, the One whom we confess is our Lord and our God is willing to come into the locked rooms of our hearts and give us His peace. Thus we see His wounds. Thus we hear His voice. Thus we come to believe.

We will not always trust in Jesus. Our sin and our death and most of all our fear are fighting a losing battle, but they are fighting tooth and nail to hold on to all their lies and manipulations. But Jesus has words for us to see and hear in those hard times. Jesus says, "So you have pain now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice and no one will take your joy from you. On that day, you will ask nothing of Me." (John 16.22)

When Thomas saw Jesus again, his skeptical heart rejoiced and he confessed the words we all long to say in our hearts: "My Lord and my God!" In this Resurrection season, remember that seeing and hearing Jesus is as close as the people around you, who have all been given life in Jesus' name and live to be the words and hands of Jesus in the world.

· You are no longer captive to your sins – you have been set free to love one another

· You are no longer captive to your fears – the peace of Christ is given to you for protection from all that threatens you · You are no longer captive to your skepticism – do not doubt, but believe.

We have all we need when we see and hear Him through the eyes and ears of faith, and through seeing and hearing Him, we believe in Him and have life in his name. "My Lord and my God!" – give us faith to see and to hear You. Amen.

---

[1] I disovered this term from Pastor Ed Markquart, who retired from Grace Lutheran Church in Seattle in 2007. I can’t find the original reference, but you can see his work at http://sermonsfromseattle.com

[2] Isaiah 9.2

Eyeing a Friday Five - AND Why I Think We Do What We Do

I have a folder of blogs on my computer here at the office, and I try to do the "Open all in tabs" investigation of bloggers at least two or three times a week. I do this for many reasons: good friends have blogs, some bloggers have become friends, and so on. The great thing is when one of the group posts something that really gets my mind going.

Today I had a first: a comment on another blog reminded me why there is a church, even with all her scars and stumblings. Here's the post that originated this comment:

I just think it bears remembering that institutional church CAN be a force for good, and for many of us it has been.
It is disappointing that not all people have shared a spiritually fulfilling experience at 'regular church.' Certainly we can do a better job at that.
But interestingly, for me it was when I left the institution and went to a parachurch group that there was no accountability and no spiritual focus and my life started to fall apart. Christians turned loose on the world with no guidance can do incredible harm, just as Christians within an institution can. I feel, at least with the institution, we have a chance at keeping things together.

The italicized text might be the most succinct explanation of the need for community and accountability I've ever read. It's one of the main reasons we do what we do in the church: because on our own we can really screw things up. (By the way, don't image search for Fred Phelps if you don't have a strong stomach). For me, part of living the theology of the cross is recognizing the capacity within myself to harm others in the name of the faith that gives me life, but that recognition only comes because I'm a part of a larger body of believers who take our corporate responsibility to one another very seriously.

Well, there's your big theological topic for the day. Now, on to the Friday Five!

This Friday Five is inspired by my husband's Lasik surgery yesterday....He'd been contemplating it for a while and was pushed over the edge by the fact that we put too much money in our healthcare spending account this year and it would have been gone anyway. (There was only enough for one eye, but the kind people at the eye clinic figured out a way to divvy up the charges between surgery and followup in January=next year's spending account). So please say a little prayer for his safe recovery and share with us your thoughts on eyes and vision.

1. What color are your beautiful eyes? Did you inherit them from or pass them on to anyone in your family? My eyes are very light blue. I don't think either of my parents have blue eyes - I know my Dad's are brown, and if I remember right my Mom's are hazel/green. But then again, neither of them are redheads, and I'm the oldest of two redheaded, blue-eyed boys out of three. Maybe Mom wasn't really kidding about the milkman? ;-)

2. What color eyes would you choose if you could change them? I wouldn't change them, just as I won't take Rogaine now that I'm starting to go bald. Life is too short to spend so much time hiding who you really are!

3. Do you wear glasses or contacts? What kind? Like 'em or hate 'em? I wear soft contacts and glasses. The glasses are only for early mornings, late nights or travel; they're about five years old and not looking so great anymore. I'm not overly fond of either, but considering my extreme nearsightedness and astigmatism, what am I gonna do?

4. Ever had, or contemplated, laser surgery? Happy with the results? I've contemplated it, but frankly the money isn't available right now, and to be honest, the surgery makes me nervous, too. Some friends have had excellent results with their lasik experiences, but I'm just skittish about it for now.

5. Do you like to look people in the eye, or are you more eye-shy? A few years ago a trusted friend told me, "I know the moment you've checked out of a conversation - your eyes start to wander." Since then I've consciously tried to keep my eyes focused to stay in the conversation.

Bonus question: Share a poem, song, or prayer that relates to eyes and seeing.
From Rich Mullins, one of his last concerts. Starts out really rough but comes together quickly.

Wednesday Night Reflection: Great Children

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a child, whom he put among them, and said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” Matthew 18.1-5

I worked five summers at Carol Joy Holling Camp in Ashland, Nebraska; the first three as a counselor and the last two as the Site Manager of Tipi Village. Dave, one of the year-round staff had a great routine – whenever he saw someone, he’s ask, “How’s my favorite counselor today?” “How’s my favorite site manager today?” Everyone got this greeting, which made it that much more funny, especially when a whole group of summer staff got it, right down the line.

Today, I’m not so sure he was joking. At least, not entirely. You see, I have two daughters, and I’ll be damned if I can figure out which one I love best. Is it Ainsley, my “mini-me,” with her curly red hair, constant happy demeanor, and overall cuteness? Or is it Alanna, my dark-haired beauty, who melts my heart as she falls asleep in my arms? I can’t pick one: I’m over the moon about them both, and I wonder sometimes if Dave didn’t feel the same way about all of us summer staff, too.

So when the disciples asked Jesus, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” I wonder if Jesus wasn’t thinking about the question differently than we disciples would generally think about it. Our tendency is to prioritize; to rank; to strive for the number one position. But if God feels about us the same way we feel about our kids, then the question changes, doesn’t it? There is no “greatest” in our family; there is only the individual children, whom I love, whose innocence and simplicity make them dearer to me than I’ll ever be able to explain.

When we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we begin, “Our Father in heaven.” In the Small Catechism, Martin Luther says:

“With these words God wants to attract us, so that we come to believe he is truly our Father and we are truly his children, in order that we may ask him boldly and with complete confidence, just as loving children ask their loving father.”

When Ainsley wants something, she comes to us and simply asks for it. There are no flowery phrases, no pre-request flattery: she asks, we say “Yes” or “No.” Alanna is even more simple: she can only grunt and cry and hope that we understand she is tired/hungry/poopy. Both Ainsley and Alanna will outgrow this simple innocence, and though I’m looking forward to knowing my girls as they grow up, there is a strong part of me that wants them to stay young and innocent forever.

What Jesus means is this: God is over the moon about you, and nothing you can say or do will make that love any stronger. You are God’s children, and God looks on you with eyes that love and ears that listen, ready to care for you with the deep, abiding love to which every loving parent aspires. This is not a competition, folks: each one of you is “fearfully and wonderfully made,” as the psalmist says, and your place in God’s family is assured, not because you are great, but because God’s love for you is great.

Rich Mullins once wrote a song about God’s love for children, and I’ll close with that this evening.

On this YouTube video you'll find the song in question, "Madeline's Song," at about 6:50. Unfortunately, the last few notes got cut off, but you'll get the drift nevertheless. The embed wasn't working right, otherwise it'd be right here. Here are the lyrics:

Madeline fusses and Madeline laughs
The angel who watches says, "Hey look at that"
There's your faith, mountains will shake
Cuz God gladly bends just to hear Madeline when she prays

Madeline stretches and Madeline kicks
The angels in heaven say, "Hey look at this"
There's your faith, mountains will shake
Cuz God gladly bends just to hear Madeline when she prays

And the only angels that I've ever seen
Look like tears on the face of the sky
Though it sure breaks your heart to see heaven all streaked up
With sorrows like theirs, still you know all the while
From where cobbles shine golden like emeralds shine green
From where gems stud the streets and the walls
God looks out a window at us just to see
If anything frail as a sparrow should fall

Madeline fusses and Madeline laughs
The angel who watches says, "Hey look at that"
There's your faith
mountains will shake
God gladly bends just to hear Madeline when she prays
God gladly bends just to hear Madeline when she prays

Hard to Get - take a listen

Some of you might not have heard Rich Mullins' song "Hard To Get," the one I used as an intro to the sermon this morning in worship. Here's a YouTube posting of the song. Yeah, I know it's just a blank screen, but it's the best I can do right now.

A side note, which occurred to me this morning: when "The Jesus Record" was actually recorded in studio, the musicians put a lot of work into making the demos Rich had recorded into a finished product. I don't want to insult their hard work, but it needs to be said: "Hard to Get" is better, by a million times, as recorded by Rich on his guitar in an abandoned church somewhere in Kansas. The song just isn't supposed to be anything but rough -that's part of the beauty.

Peace,
Scott