DAY OF PENTECOST: May 27, 2012

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Acts 2:1-21; Romans 8:22-27; John 15:26-27, 4b-15

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sisters and brothers, let me be clear: This may be Memorial Day weekend, but Pentecost is not a memorial day for the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, of course, it can be hard to tell the difference.

After all, for Memorial Day we wear special colors: red, white and blue in memory of Americans who fought and died for freedom. And on Pentecost we wear special colors, too: red, or perhaps yellow and orange, in memory of that day when the Spirit rained down like tongues of fire and made the disciples free—free to share the Good News with neighbors and friends and to the ends of the earth.

On Memorial Day, the marching band plays and the drums roll in honor of our soldiers. And on Pentecost, we pull out the drums, too, and invite dancers to church, in honor of the fact that Christians can clap and dance to worship God anytime we want to! (…but we just don’t feel like it most of the time.)

On Memorial Day, every politician is a patriot, and heart-warming words are guaranteed to be spoken from every podium. And on Pentecost, we break out the Spanish and German and Swedish, speaking tongues in the pulpit and from the pews—and for at least one Sunday you would think we truly are the multi-lingual, cross-cultural, racially diverse congregation that was gathered on that first Pentecost morning (…but just don’t ask us to sing that setting of the liturgy that’s in Spanish, Pastor.)

But in spite of our red paraments, our global music and our prayers in foreign tongues, Pentecost can nevertheless seem like a memorial service for the Holy Spirit. Because we pull out all the stops just this once a year, it feels like more of a commemoration than a celebration.

Do you remember when we had the Spirit?

Remember that Global Mission Event where everyone was clapping and singing in Swahili? The Spirit was there for sure.

Remember when we went to camp, and we danced in worship? That was definitely the Spirit.

Remember when we tore down the old sanctuary and built a whole new one? Remember when we started the PADS ministry and opened the preschool? Wow, the Spirit was really moving back then.

Remember when we were young, when we were bold, and when the Holy Spirit seemed so near to us?

Do you remember?

Sisters and brothers, let me say it again: Pentecost is not a memorial day for the Spirit.

Pentecost is a celebration of the living God. It’s a festival day, set aside to honor the Spirit who is still here. God’s Holy Spirit is among us even now: poured out upon you in your baptism, interceding every day with sighs too deep for words, and guiding us into all truth—whether we notice her or not.
This is not a memorial service for the Holy Spirit! But…the colors, the music, and the languages of this day do invoke a dangerous memory: they awaken in us of the truth of God’s presence in and among us. And for this reason, our Pentecost worship traditions do have a purpose. The sights and sounds of this day serve to prime the pump, to open our eyes, to awaken our senses, and to fan the flame of the Spirit so we once again surrender to her fiery presence among us. 

And then, we can sing together in all truth: Come thou fount of every blessing! Tune my heart to sing thy grace!

A few months ago a miracle happened: it was a Saturday night, the sermon was already written, and both of our sons were occupied with sleepovers.  My spouse and I jumped at the chance to go into Chicago for dinner and a show. Because it was a last minute date, we chose to eat at the restaurant just next door to the theater. It happened to be a Middle Eastern restaurant run by Palestinians. Robert, of course, couldn’t wait to compare the food with his favorites from his many travels to the Holy Land, so he asked the waitress if we could speak with the chef.

Now this is usually the moment when I cringe with embarrassment. Robert is always doing things like this: chatting with the taxi driver about that time when he visited his home village in Palestine, or asking the pharmacist about her accent and correctly guessing she was from Senegal, or somehow knowing the exact spot in Cairo from which Christiane Amanpour is reporting on CNN. This was no exception.

But when the chef came out he knelt by the table to chat, and we learned he was from Jerusalem. He was a Muslim but had attended St. George’s, an Episcopal school in Jerusalem. He had many good things to say about Christians in general and Lutherans in particular. And then he said, “My brother is still in Jerusalem. He has a shop there across from the Sbitany Center.”

I sat with my mouth hanging open as Robert said, “Oh, yes—on Salahadin street, on the corner between two flower shops.” The chef was flabbergasted—shocked enough, in fact, to later send out free desserts for the two of us.

Just last month when Robert returned to Jerusalem, he stopped in to that very shop. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he simply opened with: “Hi. I was in a restaurant in Chicago and met the chef, who says his brother owns a shop here.”

To which the shop owner replied: “This is MY brother! You have come to the right shop!” He was so amazed that an American Christian would take the time to pass along a message from one Muslim brother to another, across continents, cultures, and creeds, the shopkeeper said: “You must come home with me. You must talk with my mother.”

Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. (Acts 2:3-4)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

When we lived in Waco, Texas, Robert and I were grateful to qualify for the public school’s free preschool program. I eagerly took 4 year old Caleb with me to Doris Miller Elementary to register on that first day—and right away I noted that we looked quite different from the rest of the student body. In fact, Caleb was not only the sole white child in the class, but in the entire school. We were encountering the reality of a divided city—whites on one side of town, blacks on the other; money on one side of town and none on the other—and we, it seemed, were living on the “wrong side of town.”

We decided not address this with 4 year old Caleb, because, after all, being the “token” is a reality for children of color nearly every day—but we wondered when (or if) the color divide would become an issue for him at school.

And then, one day, about four months into school, it happened.

Caleb came in from school and excitedly said “MOM! Guess what! I just noticed something about my friends today.” “What’s that?” I asked a little nervously.

“Mom, we were counting things today and you know what? I’m the only kid with blue eyes in our whole class!”

‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. (Acts 2:17)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

In 2003, my father-in-law died at the age of 52. He had been chronically ill for a long time, but his death was rather sudden. Robert and I were living in Minnesota, finishing up graduate school, and cash was more than tight.

But as soon as we got the call, we rushed to Oklahoma on gas cards and coupons and with the kind help of a state trooper who rescued us when a tire blew on the turnpike somewhere near Wichita. In times like these, you do what needs to be done, and that’s what we did.

It was a trying, emotional week, but the drive home was filled with just as much anxiety. We had emptied our bank account, and Robert, who was paid hourly, had missed an entire week of work, which meant another lean week to come. I wondered how we would even buy groceries when we got home. But I didn’t say much about it. After saying good-bye to Ed at such a young age, my stress about groceries and the budget seemed, well—inconsequential. I didn’t mention it to Robert. I probably didn’t even pray. I was determined to work it out on my own.

But when we arrived home and I was standing in the kitchen of our student apartment, reading through the stack of mail from the week before, I came across a letter from a good friend from high school. I realized I hadn’t called her to tell her about Robert’s dad, and made a mental note to call the next day.

But as I opened the envelope, something green fell out. $50, to be exact. It wasn’t the Mega-Millions jackpot, but it was enough to purchase food for the week. A windfall in our budget.
My friend had written this:

“I was about to go shopping today, but God told me you needed this money more than I did. I have no idea why I’m sending this to you, but I figured you would know. Love, Karla.”

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. (Romans 8:26)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Sisters and brothers, I stand here as a witness, testifying to the presence of God’s Holy Spirit among us today. God is still speaking. The grace of our Lord Jesus is with us. And the Holy Spirit—our Comforter, Advocate, Sustainer, and Intercessor—will guide us into all truth. And all God’s people said: Amen!

Feast of the Ascension: May 20, 2012

Feast of the Ascension: May 20, 2012

Preacher: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

 

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Mark Zuckerberg, founder of Facebook, became a gazillionaire this week when his little college project became a public company. In a few short years, Facebook has profoundly changed the way we communicate with friends, share photos, advertize, evangelize, and topple governments. 

Zuckerberg has even changed the way we dress. He’s taken casual business attire to a new level by sticking religiously to his black hoodie sweatshirt—even in high-level financial meetings with investing bigwigs. In response to this style revolution, one clothing company has created a formal, lined, gray pin-striped hoodie for those who want to follow in the Facebook founder’s footsteps and bridge the gap between power suit and “college casual”. 

Clearly, Mark Zuckerberg has changed the world, in more ways than one. But amidst all the hype about his influence, his genius, his style, and the future of Facebook, I’ve been wondering: what would happen if Mark Zuckerberg one day simply ascended into heaven?

What would happen to Facebook if we saw its founder lifted up, floating into the clouds, his black hoodie flapping into the wind? 

Would we, Facebook’s loyal followers, stand around gazing into the sky after him? Would we be gathered around our computers and iPhones, staring at blank screens, trying to remember how we communicated before status updates and memes? Or would the Facebook phenomenon continue on, filling the world with cute cat photos into eternity?

Yes indeed, strange things happen when preachers read the Bible and watch the news at the same time. Clearly, Mark Zuckerberg isn’t Jesus. But with Facebook and its founder dominating the media hype this weekend, I couldn’t help making connections with that other young Jewish man who changed the world, and how his disciples responded when he was suddenly lifted up out of their sight. 

Admittedly, I am probably the only one in this room who was thinking about the Ascension of Jesus this week. This festival probably ranks in popularity somewhere between the Feast of the Circumcision and the Feast of the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents. It doesn’t help that the liturgical calendar places Ascension on a Thursday during a time of year packed with band concerts, sports practices and tee times. In fact, unless churches make a special effort to move this feast day to the following Sunday (like we did), most of us will happily skip from the story of Jesus’ resurrection at Easter to the sending of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, without so much as a thought about where the resurrected body of Christ went, or why Jesus stopped walking through locked doors and startling his disciples. 

So here it is again, in case you missed it: the Ascension story, first as it is told in our first reading from Acts, chapter 1:

“When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” 

And then, a few more details from Luke, chapter 24: 

“Then (Jesus) led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.”

There it is—the story of the Ascension of Jesus and our post-Easter life as Christians. Jesus died. Jesus was resurrected. Jesus appeared a few times to the disciples to prove he was really alive. And then Jesus was teleported into heaven, at which time his disciples first stood around gazing after him, and then decided to hang out continuously in the temple.  

I would imagine that for most of your neighbors—or maybe for the rest of us, if we’re honest--this is exactly what Christian discipleship looks like. Some unbelievable, impossible, illogical things happened to a young Jewish guy, and now millions of Christians hang out inside a building on Sunday morning instead of going to the lake. End of story. Jesus is gone, taken up into heaven, and all we can do is hang out in buildings that are shrines to the way things used to be.

This past week I was in Atlanta for the Festival of Homiletics, which is just as thrilling as it sounds. Three worship services and at least six preachers a day—yee haw! It’s a preacher’s paradise, as well as something of a fashion black hole. There were exactly zero Zuckerberg hoodies, but sensible shoes, NPR tote bags and large cross necklaces were in abundance. I felt right at home. 

On Wednesday we spent the day at Ebenezer Baptist Church, spiritual home of Martin Luther King, Jr. After hearing the current Ebenezer pastor preach a spectacular sermon in the new worship building, and after touring MLK’s birthplace, tomb, and cultural center, we had the chance to visit the historic sanctuary, which is now a museum. 

Dr. King’s voice was being piped in to the church on a continuous loop of his most famous sermons. It was an eerie experience to be sitting there in a well-worn pew, staring at the empty pulpit, hearing the Gospel proclaimed from beyond the grave in Dr. King’s distinctive baritone. I was suddenly overcome with emotion. The tears flowed as I thought about that prophetic voice, silenced too soon. I wondered how awful it must have been for his fellow workers in the civil rights movement in those days following his death. I felt the weight of the loss of Dr. King, and of what might have been.

But then I remembered something I had learned in the King cultural center earlier that day. There was a special room dedicated to Dr. King’s wife, Coretta Scott King. I was especially drawn to the timeline of her life—especially the notation that on April 8, 1968, Mrs. King appeared at a civil rights march with 42,000 other people in Memphis. She gave a 14 minute speech that day. 

This is significant because April 8 was just four days after her husband’s assassination—and still one day before his funeral.  

Just four days after losing her husband, Coretta Scott King was already carrying on as a witness to the message of hope and the dream of equality. 

 

Just four days after an assassin silenced a prophetic voice, there were 42,000 people empowered to march in support of the rights of sanitation workers.

Just four days after losing Dr. King, it was clear that hope was not lost, and there were plenty of folks who remembered that “the time is always right to do what is right”.

Sitting there in that pew at the historic Ebenezer Baptist Church, I knew this was no shrine to the way things used to be. Instead, that church stands as a living witness to what can happen when Christians, empowered by the Holy Spirit, boldly carry the Good News to the ends of the earth.

For this is the part of the Ascension story we too easily overlook. Before he was taken up into heaven, Jesus said to the disciples: 

“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” 

You will receive power, and you will be my witnesses. 

Through the gift of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost—which we will celebrate next Sunday!—we are witnesses to Jesus’ life, his death, and his resurrection.

We are witnesses when we pass on the faith to the next generation in Sunday school and Confirmation. Empowered by the Spirit, I am a witness!

We are witnesses when we house the homeless through PADs, when we feed the hungry through the food pantry, and when we care for children at HeadStart and the Bethany Preschool. Empowered by the Spirit, I am a witness!

And we are witnesses when we invite a neighbor to church and when we boldly share the story of what Jesus to us. Empowered by the Spirit, I am a witness!

Brothers and sisters, Christ has died. Christ is risen. And yes, Christ has ascended into heaven—and because we are empowered by the Holy Spirit, that is just the beginning of the story.

Easter 6: May 13, 2012

 PREACHER: Pr. Erik Zingelman

  Acts 10:44-48,  1 John 5:1–6,  John 15:9–17

          Last week the eunuch was a God-fearer who became a Christian.  We meet another God-fearer today.  Last week the eunuch said, "Why shouldn't I be baptized?"  Today, on behalf of many people, another man says, "Can anyone keep these people from being baptized?"  Today we ask God to use our tongues to lift up Jesus' name!

          New ground was again being broken in the apostle's ministry.  The apostle Peter had had a vision that told him to not be afraid to welcome believing Gentiles into the kingdom.  At the same time (a day earlier), a God-fearing Gentile named Cornelius had an angelic visitor who told him to send for Peter and have him come to his home. A divine connection was being made in the heavens to bring about our text today.  Cornelius obeyed the angel; Peter listened to God, and the group from Joppa met Cornelius and friends in Caesarea and another Pentecost happened!

          "While he (Peter) was still speaking"(v. 44), the Holy Spirit came on all who heard the message.  This was the same preacher God had used on Pentecost, and the Spirit had the same effect: speaking in tongues in praise of God.  This visit by the Holy Spirit brought faith and belief in Jesus as their savior.  They became Christians that day and were baptized soon afterwards.

          I wonder if Peter was surprised that all these Gentiles believed so readily.  Are we astonished when people become Christians, especially unlikely candidates as far as we are concerned?  Maybe that is our problem.  Our estimation is too low of what God can and wants to do.  Could it be that his plans go far beyond ours?

          God desires all to be saved.  The Holy Spirit's most important work is wooing people to show them their sin and their Savior.  Jesus paid the price to set all free from sin and the devil, and no one can change that fact.  No wonder people like football/baseball star Deion Sanders or the son of the famous atheist Madalyn Murray O'Hair have become Christians.  We shouldn't be surprised.  God never gives up.  He keeps on knocking! 

          A nurse on the pediatric ward, before listening to the little ones' chests, would put the stethoscope into their ears and let them listen to their own hearts.  Their eyes would always light up with awe.  But she never got a response equal to four-year-old David's.  Gently she tucked the stethoscope in his ears and placed the disk over his heart.  "Listen," she said, "what do you suppose that is?"

          He drew his eyebrows together in a puzzled line and looked up as if lost in the mystery of the strange tap-tap-tapping in this chest.  Then his face broke out in a wondrous grin.  "Is that Jesus knocking?" he asked.

          God never gives up.  Neither should we!

          You and I have been claimed by God as his children.  He has blessed us to be a blessing to those around us.  He calls us to share his good news – to allow his spirit to work through us to bring others to his love and forgiveness.  This we do through both word and example.

         

          No one can say Jesus is Lord, except by the Holy Spirit.  You use your tongue to speak that wonderful truth!  When we remember our baptism and how Jesus changed us there, we know the message to speak.

          How adept are we at using our voices as the Acts 10 people did?  "For they heard them speaking in tongues and praising God!"   Do we continually praise God by what we say, by how we build up those made in the image of God, and by what we say behind the backs of those made in the image of God? Is your tongue a new creation each day or dangerous, like an old acidic, corrupt, and dead battery?

          There once was a Roman Catholic priest, an Episcopalian rector, a Presbyterian minister, and a Lutheran pastor who met together for lunch on a regular basis.  One afternoon they got in a confessional mood and the minister suggested that they talk about their personal problems.

          The priest confessed that he was a compulsive gambler.  The rector admitted that he had an obsession about attractive women.  The minister hesitated, but then admitted that he was an alcoholic.  Then all three turned to the Lutheran pastor and asked him what his problem was.  "Well," he confessed, "I'm a compulsive gossip, and I can't wait to get out of here!"

          Does God bring a gossiping tongue under the control of the Holy Spirit?  Why do we say so much that is untrue and that damages reputations and churches and families? We rarely seem to think it's wrong.  An unknown author has written this about the evil of the tongue:

          I have no respect for justice. I maim without killing. I break hearts and ruin lives. I am cunning and malicious and gather strength with age.  The more I am quoted, the more I am believed. I flourish at every level of society.  My victims are helpless.  They cannot protect themselves against me, for I have no face or no name.  To track me down is impossible.  The harder you try, the more elusive I become.

          I am nobody's friend.  Once I tarnish a reputation, it is never quite the same.  I topple governments and wreck marriages.  I ruin careers, cause sleepless nights, heartaches, and grief.  I make innocent people cry into their pillow.  I make headlines and heartaches.

          I am called gossip.  The next time you want to tell a story about someone ... think. Is it true?  Is it necessary?  Is it kind?  If not, please don't say it!

          Your wayward tongue not only hurts others, but it will eventually hurt you, too.  An elderly grandfather was growing deaf, so he decided to buy a hearing aid.  Two weeks later he stopped at the store where he had bought it and told the manager he could now pick up conversation quite easily, even in the next room.  "Your relatives must be happy to know that you can hear so much better," beamed the delighted storeowner.  "Oh, I haven't told them yet," the man chuckled.  "I've just been sitting around listening -- and you know what? I changed my will twice!"

How do we best draw others to our Lord and Savior through our words and deeds?  First, we receive strength from Jesus, the One who kept his mouth shut and didn't even defend himself when accused at his trial.  Our hope is in the cross and the open tomb of this Easter season and the One who conquered both. He forgives our harsh and judgmental tongues and empowers us to speak the truth in love.  Our hope is to hear Jesus' say, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do," and our response is, "Forgive me, Jesus, and make me more like you!" 

          The second thing we need to do after admitting our need and receiving forgiveness is to be patient and let God refine our lives.  It's a process from birth to death to become more like Jesus.  We're not finished products yet.  We keep on learning and growing.  Be patient and let your prayer be, "Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer!"

Amen

5th Sunday of Easter: May 6, 2012

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

John 15:1-8

Jesus the True Vine

‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples"

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen. 

“Where are you from?” It seems like such a simple question, and yet it has always been a difficult one for me to answer. New acquaintances must think I’m being evasive or secretive as I struggle to find the right words. I remember one such conversation, shortly after I moved to Chicago, going something like this:

“Where are you from?”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to say.”

“Well, where did you move here from?”

“Texas.”

“Where do your parents live?”

“On the other side of Texas.”

“So you’re from Texas!”

“No…not at all, really.”

“Where were you born?”

“I was born in Iowa, but moved to Nebraska when I was about 10.”

“Did you graduate high school in Nebraska?”

“No, I went to high school in Oklahoma.”

“Didn’t you say your husband is from Oklahoma too?”

“Yes.”

“Ah ha!  So you must be an Okie!”

“Um, no…actually my husband and I met in Germany.”

At this point, my potential new friend usually changes the subject—or, if I’m lucky, sits down for a glass of wine to hear the whole story.

Where are you from? What I have learned from moving so often is that home isn’t really a place at all. Home is wherever you find comfort and safety. Home is where you are fed and are able to grow. Home is life-giving. But in my experience, those things have more to do with people than with place. Bloom where you are planted, someone once said. I would add: bloom with whom you are planted.

Today’s Gospel text from the 15^th chapter of John encourages us to make our home—and to bloom—with Jesus. “Abide in me, as I abide in you” Jesus says. If we abide in Jesus, staying close to him, then we will not only bloom but will bear much fruit. Home, sweet home.

And this is a lovely thought, except that some of these verses sound a bit like a threat. “Abide in me, or else!” Jesus seems to say. All that stuff about pruning and being thrown into the fire is disturbing. “Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned.”  Ouch! When you put it that way, abiding on the vine sounds more like a safety measure than living in a “home, sweet home.”

Jesus clearly wants us to make our home in him, as the branch abides in the vine. But here is where I not only get stuck on the image of God’s great bonfire, but I also can’t stop thinking about those wayward branches. The way Jesus describes horticulture, one would think that branches are leaping from one tree to another, choosing to be a magnolia one day and an elm the next. It is well-known that I have a black thumb instead of a green one, but even I know this isn’t how it works.

To the best of my knowledge, branches do indeed “bloom where they are planted.” Branches can’t just choose to take up residence on another vine! They sprout and grow from their original source—and this is not so much a choice as a fact. Telling a bunch of branches to “abide in me” makes as much sense as telling a bunch of Lutherans to sit still and stop clapping during the hymns.

 Therefore, instead of hearing these verses as an imperative to “abide in me or else”, consider that Jesus may be making a point about our absolute dependence on God and on each other. 

“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.” In American culture, it’s not at all popular to talk about dependence on anyone or anything. We’d like to think we are, above all else, free agents: pioneers, cowboys, mavericks, always pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps. We proudly declare our independence, along with liberty and justice for all.

And yet, hear again the words of Jesus, who says: “Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.” Jesus wants us to make a declaration of dependence—on God, the source of all life, and on the Word, which nourishes and sustains us. We are invited to make ourselves at home—and even unpack the last few boxes—and recognize that apart from God, we would be lost. And the blessing is that those who abide in him, Jesus says, will bear much fruit. 

Last week I experienced a perfect example of what it looks like for a community to bear fruit. It happened a week ago Thursday, when I received a phone call from Buck Pearson’s neighbor. This neighbor hadn’t seen Buck for awhile, and though he had no contact information for his family, he remembered that Buck attended Bethany, and thought to call the church.

I happened to answer the phone that day, and instantly my stomach dropped. Buck is 96 years old. His neighbor reported there were two newspapers in front of his garage. There was no answer on Buck’s home phone or cell phone. When I arrived at his home, waiting for the police and fire department to arrive, I fervently prayed for a better outcome than I feared.

The fire department soon broke down the door, and I was given a face mask to wear as we entered. I was told to wait at the bottom of the stairs while the team investigated. And I will never forget the look on the officer’s face as he poked his head around the corner and yelled to me, “He’s taking a bath! And he’s talking to us!”

Thanks be to God! Buck Pearson is a very strong man. He had been in a bathtub of icy water for two days—much to the chagrin of his cat Tigger, who had been visiting him periodically to demand dinner. But Buck was alive.

At the hospital, Buck surprised me again by asking, “Where’s your husband?” Knowing his body temperature was under 90 degrees, I wasn’t sure Buck even knew who he was talking to, so I answered simply, “He’s at home.” Buried under a pile of heated blankets, Buck’s quick answer was, “Wasn’t he just in Jerusalem?” 

Buck not only knew who I was and where he was, but he knew where my husband was, which is no small feat! 

Abide in me, as I abide in you. Those who abide in me will bear much fruit. 

Buck gave me permission to share his story today because I told him I would be preaching on what it means to depend on God and on one another—and to bear much fruit (although he might not like to think that he is the fruit in this story!) 

Buck is a strong and independent man. But Buck wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for his connections with his neighbors and his church community. He wouldn’t be here if his community didn’t bear fruit.

Buck’s neighbors bore the fruit of love when they reached out to check on his welfare. I have no idea if they are Christians, but their actions are witness to the fact that the Word of God abides in them: “Love your neighbor as yourself” and “Love one another as I have loved you” come to mind. 

And this community bore fruit in their responses after hearing the news. Buck’s neighbors knew Buck was connected to this branch—the Bethany branch on the vine of the church of Jesus Christ. And they knew that if they called the church, we would take action. We would bear fruit. We would pray, we would visit, and we would lovingly tend to his needs. And that is what happened: prayers, visitors, and lovingly knitted prayer shawls flooded in to the hospital.

Buck Pearson, 96 years old, is now facing a move. After rehabilitation, it’s likely he will be living in a new place with a little more day to day help. But the Good News is that Buck will always be at home. He will always abide in Jesus Christ, as Christ abides in him. Even when things change—when we move, when our homes are taken from us, when our loved ones are gone, or when the entire landscape looks different—we remain on the vine. We are the branches, Jesus is the vine, and God is the good gardener who planted the garden in the first place. Home, sweet home.

20^th Century saint and activist Dorothy Day once wrote, “We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.”  Today, I join Buck in giving thanks to God for good neighbors, and for the Bethany community, who abide in the Word and bear the fruit of love. Amen.