11th Sunday after Pentecost: August 12, 2012

John 6:35, 41-51

Sermon – We are starving

PREACHER: Pastor Paul Cannon

First, I should introduce myself.  I am Pastor Paul and this congregation – Bethany Lutheran – has called me to be the Pastor of Children, Youth and Family.  And I have to say…you all have no idea what you are getting.  During my whole application process I had to track down some people to give me recommendations (harder than you think), and I was fond of telling these people that I chose them specifically because they had the unique distinction of being the best … liars that I knew!  And they really must have tricked the call committee because here I am today.  So I say all this to let you know that if you have any complaints about me, you can take them directly to Brian Bromley was the chair of the committee or even Jack Heisler who was also part of the vetting process.

And before I start, I just want to say briefly that we very intentionally included the “family” portion of my title to let you know that my role here is not simply going to be the “Youth” guy.  We are all a part of a family – whether it’s our home family, this church family, and of course, God’s family.  While my primary duties here will be to oversee the programs for our young people, I am also here to bring Christ to all the generations that are here under this roof.  So know that my door is open to all people in the congregation.

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

I think that there is a sense in this country – maybe even in this very congregation – that people are becoming less and less religious.  That people are starting to care less and less about God.  Have any of you ever felt that way?  I’m just curious, by show of hands, who thinks that people today are less religious than they used to be?  Is there anybody who thinks that people today are more religious? 

Well the truth is that in some ways both answers are right.  Researchers look into this question all the time.  And if you go around and ask a bunch of people if they consider themselves to be “religious,”  it’s actually true that fewer people would tell you “yes” than would have told you 20 years ago.
And so maybe you know some folks who would tell you that they are not “religious” per se, but will still tell you that they are “spiritual.” Have you ever heard that before?  Or maybe you’ve heard people tell you that they believe in God, but they just don’t like organized religion.  Or…maybe you’ve even heard people quote Mahatma Gandhi who famously said, “I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians.  Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”  

Those are hard words for me to hear, but to my ears they ring very true.  The truth is, that even in the church – maybe especially in the church – we have been very unlike Christ. Where Christ broke bread with prostitutes and tax collectors – the most notorious sinners – we have made such people feel unwelcome.  Where Jesus would listen to people’s sins and forgive them, it seems to me that too often Church has become a place where we hide our sins from each other and pretend like everything is perfect. 

But I think that there is good news embedded in the words of Gandhi as well.  “I don’t like your Christians” he says, “But I like your Christ.”  To me it says what we’ve known all along – that the God we worship is worthy, even when we are not.  It says that people are hungry – they are spiritually starving – for a God that comes to them free of prejudice and sin that all of us Christians bring to the table.  I think that people are hungry for a God that looks less like the millionaire preachers on TV and more like the poor carpenter’s son who walked with them, listened to them and loved them.

To me it says that there is something magnetic and powerful about Jesus – that even a hindu leader feels drawn to. “I like your Jesus,” Gandhi said.  Even in the face of all the bad things that have been done in the name of Chirstianity -- wars, hate crimes, oppression – people are still drawn to Jesus.
And isn’t that what we read in our gospel today?  That it is God – not ourselves, not fancy church programs, not a dynamic Pastor --- that draws people in.  “No one comes to me” Jesus tells the crowd, “unless drawn by the father.” 

There is tremendous hope in that. It’s not about how great we are, it’s about how great our God is. And I think that’s why people haven’t given up on Christianity entirely.  Now don’t get me wrong – Bethany has done some great things.  From what I’ve seen so far, this church is very welcoming and friendly; We’re sending people on mission trips abroad; we have a great team of dedicated and faithful staff and volunteers; but nothing that we do on our own could bring people together like sharing the bread of Christ does.  Because no matter what we do, people will still hunger for a God that is greater than us Christians.

I’ve been working with kids for a long time now and I can tell you that they are not any different.  They too are hungry to hear about Jesus even if they are not all that excited about coming to church.
When I was teaching Confirmation back in 2006-2007, I had a kid in my class named Mitch, who made a big impression on me.  Mitch was a really interesting 6th grader because he was a self-proclaimed atheist.  Thinking about that just drove me crazy because I couldn’t wrap my mind around how this kid—whose parents were faithfully bringing him to church every week—decided that he was an atheist. 

And of course he never took it easy on me either. In class every week, Mitch would inevitably interrupt what we were doing by asking a really pointed question about God.  “If God exists, then why is there evil in the world?” he would ask. Or “If God were real why wouldn’t he just come down and show himself to us?” or “If God is good, then why is there suffering?”

I wish I could say that I had really clever answers to tell him.  Words that could wrap up those questions in a neat bow that would make him understand everything magically.  But I didn’t have any answers and I certainly didn’t have a bow to put on it. I don’t know why there is suffering.  I don’t know why there are parents out there who abuse their children.  I’m not really sure why a good man might die of a heart attack too young and an evil man might live to be 100.  Those are the kinds of questions that there aren’t any answers too.

But what I could tell Mitch was that our God knows our suffering – and not just that he understands it – but that he suffered it himself.  I could tell him that we have a God who was flogged and beaten, then nailed to a cross to die a traitors death – and that he did that for our own sakes. I could tell him that he broke bread with sinners and scorned the self-righteous hypocrites. I could tell him that our God is a God of grace, forgiveness and love regardless of what evil exists in the world.

Well, towards the end of that year there was one confirmation night where Mitch put his hand up in the air, and I thought to myself, “oh no, here we go again” and though he preceeded to make one of his usual objections to Christianity, he started it differently.  He said… “I believe in God, but…”  and I don’t even remember what exactly he said next, because all I remember is those first four words:  “I believe in God…”

I was blown away.  Here was this trouble-making atheist 6th grader telling me now that he believed in God.  And I had to wonder “How did that happen?”  And the only answer that I can come up with was that perhaps Mitch was hungry for God all along.  But maybe he just couldn’t believe in a God who had fake answers to questions we don’t understand.  Maybe all along he was starving for a God that was worth believing in – a God who knew suffering the same way we know suffering.

And I can’t help but reflect on Mitch when I hear our Gospel story today.  “I am the bread of life” Jesus tells the crowd.  “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” The bread of life is the man who gives himself on the cross.  “The bread that I will give for the life of the world” He tells the crowd, “Is my flesh.”  I know that Mitch was drawn to that sort of bread – even Gandhi was drawn to that sort of bread – and my guess is that you are too.

We are all starving for a God who is worth following.  We are hungry for a God who calls us to take up the cross and follow him wherever that may be.  We need a God who calls into hard places that are out of our comfort zones. Instead of a God who gives us easy answers to hard questions, we yearn for a God who walks with us in our suffering.  This is the God that we are all hungry for.  And this is the God that Jesus is. 

So come, find the bread of life here at the table.  Find the bread of life, here in Jesus.  Amen

August 5, 2012: 10th Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15; John 6:24-35

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

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

On Tuesday afternoon, a rather unusual traveler arrived in the church office.

I was at home wolfing down a late lunch when our faithful office manager Kelly called to say: “There’s a young man here from England who’s looking for a place to stay. Any ideas?”

Aside from the fact that he was from England, this didn’t seem too unusual. People come to the church all the time looking for help. I always try to do what I can—but in this case, I knew PADS was closed until October, Good Samaritan wasn’t open on Tuesdays, and our church had just hosted a group of Palestinian teenagers the week before. I, myself, have had a steady stream of visitors in our basement since summer began. So I said to Kelly, “Tell him to go to the fire department” and I hung up the phone.

An hour later, sitting at my desk back at the church, I saw a young man walk into the office. I immediately knew this was the same character. I went out to greet him, and discovered that his story truly was more unusual than I first thought. Matthew, age 20, is indeed from England, and he was traveling from Seattle to New York—by bicycle—on just $10 per day. He had biked 60 miles that morning and just needed a place to sleep before going to his next stop in Oak Park.

I hemmed and hawed. I flipped aimlessly through the church directory, trying to think of who I could call. I looked nervously at the church member sitting in the office waiting for a meeting. What should I do? The last thing I wanted was a guest in my home that night, much less a complete stranger. I was sure my husband—in country for once—would be even less excited about this prospect.

“You can stay at my place,” I said, finally.

We could have an entire conversation about the safety and wisdom of this decision at another time, but the point to be made this morning is that Matthew turned out to be a blessing--first and foremost to the teenage girls on my block. Several young neighbors gathered to swim in our pool and observe our exotic guest, and were delighted to announce to me, “He sounds like Harry Potter!”

I expected to feel pretty good about doing a good deed, but it was the opportunity to hear Matthew’s stories that was truly a gift from God I didn’t expect.

Biking from Seattle to New York on ten dollars per day means Matthew relies daily on the kindness of strangers for shelter and food. He told of the varied reception he’s received at churches. At one large inner city church he stopped to ask for help, but before he even got the sentence out, and without a hint of eye contact, the answer was “no.” He saw another person sitting in a neighboring office and asked to talk to her, but was told “She’ll tell you no, too.”

Another pastor happily took him home but then quizzed him over dinner, “Are you going to heaven?” When Matthew answered “Yes”, the pastor followed up with, “But are you SURE?!”

Fire stations have been pretty hospitable places, but one time he shared his situation and was told “Sorry, we can’t help an able-bodied male in good weather.” Another time, a woman agreed to let him stay at her home, but just as he was getting ready for bed, she said to him, “If you steal from me, I’ll kill you.”

Another host showed off his very large arsenal of weapons. Matthew commented to me, “We just don’t have guns like that in the UK. What possible use do Americans have for an assault rifle at home, anyway?” A very good question, indeed.

But the best story is of Matthew’s experience staying at a monastery in North Dakota. I found Matt to be a chatty, outgoing guy (which certainly helps him survive an adventure that requires asking for help multiple times a day) but this was a contemplative monastery. In other words, no talking. Matt struggled with the concept of eating dinner in silence.

But the dinner was delicious—plates and plates of food. And then, out came one of the monks with the largest barrel of Rocky Road ice cream he had ever seen. The monks didn’t take dainty little tastes, either. Matthew described them heaping scoop after scoop into their bowls: A heavenly banquet! Manna from heaven!

The Israelites, on their Exodus journey, never received Rocky Road ice cream from the Lord. But they did receive just enough for the day. Each day, the Lord said, I will rain bread from heaven for you. And that is what the Lord did: “In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.” (Exodus 16)

But whatever it was, Scripture tells us the Lord kept his promise, and provided just what the Israelites needed each day.

In the same way, Matt has been fed with just enough for the day on his journey. It’s hardly ever Rocky Road, though. He eats a lot of baked beans and canned pears. Great protein, he says, and definitely within budget! In the beginning, even that menu posed a challenge, because in the interest of traveling light he didn’t carry a can opener. He stopped at homes, diners, and gas stations to ask help with that, too.

Matthew also related that at first, some people wanted to give him food to take on his journey. Soon, however, his bicycle was so loaded down with granola bars and energy drinks that he finally had to say no. Burdened by that extra weight, he could never have traveled the 35 miles a day required to reach his destination. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, he would just have to go out and gather enough for that day. Each day, he would have to trust others to give him his daily bread—people like me.

Before you start to think this is a sermon about how generous, loving, and saintly your pastor is, now would be a good time to confess that I was beyond crabby about welcoming Matthew into my home. I was not thinking Christian thoughts when I first considered this option. But then I remembered a few things:

“Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13)

“Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?” (Matthew 25)

“Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you. Jesus said, ‘Feed my sheep.’” (John 21)

“By this time it was late in the day, so the disciples came to him and said: ‘Send the people away so that they can go…buy themselves something to eat.’ But Jesus answered, ‘You give them something to eat.’” (Mark 6)

I can’t help thinking of the testing of the Israelites in the wilderness. The Lord said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not.” Matthew may have been the one on a voluntary Exodus, but it seemed that perhaps it was I who was being tested. In fact, the truth is, perhaps I was the hungry one.

I could have fed myself with a quiet evening at home. I could have fed myself with lying around in my comfy pants, watching the Olympics and keeping things as familiar as possible.

But, instead, even though I was reluctant; even though I, like the Israelites, grumbled about what the Lord was doing; even though I might have preferred Rocky Road to the manna being provided for me—the Lord fed me with exactly what I needed.

I made Matthew homemade pizza, but through the goodness of God I was the one nourished, filled with stories I never would have heard otherwise. Robert and I provided Matthew a place to sleep for a night, but we also got a chance to live vicariously a journey we will likely never experience ourselves. Matthew had been rejected, turned away, and judged by plenty of Christians already—but in showing him kindness (even reluctantly) we were the ones who learned something about the radical welcome of Jesus Christ. Robert and I even had the opportunity to share our faith in God with Matt, even as we marveled at his own faith in the goodness of people. These memories will last much longer than a quiet evening at home ever could, and we went to bed with full bellies and full hearts.

Jesus tells the hungry crowd in John chapter 6, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.”

Sisters and brothers in Christ, we all spend our days laboring for the food that perishes. It’s easy to be consumed by daily tasks, trying to fill our hungry bellies and starving hearts with empty calories and meals that will never satisfy: accomplishments, comforts, power, beauty, financial security, or certainty about the world and the people around us.

Then, out of the blue, walking through the front door—perhaps even dropped from heaven—comes a stranger, a neighbor in need, or an unexpected guest. And there, in the most unlikely of places, we just might come face to face with the “bread of God which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world”. That bread is our Savior Jesus Christ: healer, teacher, prophet, and stranger, despised and rejected, crucified and risen. Jesus said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Through the grace of God, and by Christ’s radical welcome, we meet him every week here at this table, in the bread and wine.

Let us go now to the banquet! Amen!

July 29, 2012: 9th Sunday after Pentecost (Christmas in July)

John 6:1-21

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

Merry Christmas! In case you missed it, we have an unusual theme for this morning’s worship service: This is Christmas in July! Joy to the World, the Lord is come!...Let earth receive her King!

Now the reason for today’s festivities is to lift up the fact that all month long Bethany members have been gathering gifts for local social service agencies. We’re accustomed to Christmas being the “season for giving”, but the truth is that our neighbors struggle for food, toiletries, rent, and other assistance the whole year long, not just at the holidays. In recognition of this need, Bethany’s Social Action ministry team has encouraged us to celebrate "Christmas in July”, bringing offerings that will fill the shelves at P.A.D.S., the Food Pantry, Home of the Sparrow, the Veteran’s Home in Hebron, and the Salvation Army this summer. The fruits of your efforts are seen behind me. Great work, saints! These gifts will make the lives of your neighbors a bit merrier.

It’s also true that when we see these items displayed, we feel good. It certainly feels good to sing Christmas carols, no matter what month it is. And it feels good to give. Seeing these gifts artfully arranged behind us makes it feel we’ve really done something. Maybe, just maybe, the world is a better place because of our small effort. Maybe, just maybe, this Christianity thing can really turn the world around.

But then—we turn on the news. We hear reports of the famine in Illinois and other states, with crops destroyed and a future of increased food prices for us all. The murder rate in Chicago has gone up 39 percent over last year—two 16 year olds were killed Thursday alone. We see grisly images of women and children massacred in Syria. And on Tuesday night this week, we heard the startlingly true stories of six Palestinian teenagers who have grown up under occupation and who face an uncertain future.

In the face of such huge challenges, it’s easy for the glow of Christmas—whether in December or July—to wear off. It can be tempting to see the problems looming before us and respond, just like Phillip, who stood with Jesus, watching the large hungry crowd coming toward them, and said: “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little!” Like Phillip, we might feel like throwing our hands up in the air to say, “What can we possibly do, Jesus? It’s hopeless. Let them figure it out. We have to take care of our own.” 

One way of interpreting this morning’s reading about the loaves and fishes is that this was a stupendous miracle performed by Jesus in order to prove that Philip was right: he can’t fix it, but Jesus can. Jesus Christ, born in a stable, visited by wise men, and followed by fishermen, waved his hands and multiplied bread and fish, thereby fixing the problem and solidifying his status as a superhero.

If we accept this interpretation today, then in the face of the world’s problems, we might just say, “Yep, it looks pretty bad, but no worries: Jesus multiplied the loaves and the fishes, so we can just go home now and trust that Jesus will perform a miracle to fix this, too.” 

If this interpretation sounds familiar, you’re not alone. I’m certain most of us have heard this version in Sunday school and countless sermons.

But more recently, another interpretation has arisen. In this telling of the story, Jesus didn’t perform a miracle at all. Instead, we hear that the crowd, under peer pressure, finally opened their lunchboxes and backpacks and passed around the food they were hiding from their neighbors. All were satisfied, and there was even food leftover, because people finally decided to share. 

I must admit, I rather like this interpretation, because it makes me feel like I can do something. It definitely inspires Christians to do things like—well, like Christmas in July! This modern interpretation definitely serves as a corrective to the older, passive, “It’s ok, Jesus will take care of it” mindset.

But then, I’m not sure this “miracle-free” interpretation entirely works for me, either.

 Because when I read the story of the feeding of the five thousand, I do see a miracle. After all, 5 loaves plus 2 fish does not equal dinner for 5,000 people, no matter how you figure it!

The question is: Where did the miracle take place?

Were these miraculous loaves, baked with magic yeast by the boy’s mother? 

Did Jesus possess a hocus pocus prayer, capable of multiplying food on the spot?

Did the miracle waft through the crowd, where the people suddenly felt compelled to share? 

Or, perhaps, did the miracle take place in the hearts of the disciples?

Consider that in both stories we heard this morning—Jesus feeding the 5,000 and Jesus walking on the water—the disciples were in seemingly hopeless situations. And in both stories, they greatly underestimated this Jesus. 

They had followed him, they had heard him preach, they had even witnessed other miracles, but in the face of a hungry crowd and a dark and stormy night, the disciples believed that this problem was just too great. This time, there was nothing he could do. This was a hopeless situation.

How could 5 loaves and 2 fish possibly feed this crowd?

How could Jesus possibly get to us, when we’re so far from the shore?

How could our cans of cat food, rolls of toilet paper and packs of mac and cheese possibly help poverty in our community?

How can swatting down paper mosquitos possibly end deaths from malaria?

How could there ever be a church that would welcome me?

How could God possibly forgive me, after what I’ve done?

How could a crucified man walk out of a tomb and appear to his friends, alive and well?

The disciples despaired because they didn’t understand who this Jesus was.

And then, in the face of seemingly hopeless circumstances, a miracle occurs when the hearts of disciples are transformed from hopelessness and apathy to trust and action. Instead of sitting on their hands, they sat the crowds down on the grass, as Jesus instructed. They passed around the 5 loaves and the 2 fish. And when all were satisfied, they gathered up the fragments. Dinner, itself, was no doubt miraculous for the hungry crowd. But the heart of this story is when both the crowd and the disciples recognize Jesus for who he is: the son of God, the prophet the world’s been waiting for, our Savior, the light of the world.

“It is I,” says Jesus. “Do not be afraid.” 

Now, one could criticize a pastor for quoting the same saint too often. But then, perhaps you will forgive me this time, in light of the fact that my beloved Dorothy Day’s autobiography is entitled “Loaves and Fishes”! 

And indeed, Dorothy’s words strike a chord with the Gospel reading for today. The famous co-founder of the Catholic Worker writes: 

"The sense of futility is one of the greatest evils of the day...People say, "What can one person do? What is the sense of our small effort?" They cannot see that we can only lay one brick at a time, take one step at a time; we can be responsible only for the one action of the present moment. But we can beg for an increase of love in our hearts that will vitalize and transform all our individual actions, and know that God will take them and multiply them, as Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishes." 

When we give in to hopelessness or retreat into apathy in the face of our own problems or the world’s sorrows, then we, too, underestimate Jesus. We, like Phillip and Andrew, might be missing who this Jesus is, and what he can do: in the world, in our community, in our lives, and especially in our hearts.

In the face of systemic poverty in our community, we might say “what is the sense of our small effort? What good can our little Christmas in July do?” And it’s true: these food offerings have not yet multiplied. I haven’t, as yet, seen an avalanche of pasta flowing from behind the altar.

And yet…what miracles are happening in this place today? Who has been reminded of a time when he, himself, was hungry? Whose heart is being opened to consider giving to others? Who might receive these gifts of food this week and know that all hope is not lost? Might the story of Christmas in July—and the miracle of the loaves and fish—forever become a part of the baptism stories of Alexis and Joseph, told and retold? And if so, what miracles could occur in their lives? 

And so we offer up our loaves and fish—not because it’s enough to solve the world’s problems (because it’s not.)

We offer up our loaves and fish—not because it will earn us salvation (because it can’t).

We offer up our meager loaves and fish—all that we have—because we know this Jesus is truly the son of God, and we trust the love of Christ to transform and multiply our gifts for the sake of the world. 

In the face of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict threatening the Land of Jesus’ birth, this week three Bethany families hosted Lutheran Palestinian teenagers in their homes. More than 70 people, representing 5 churches, heard the stories the teens shared in Luther Hall. We can’t solve this conflict ourselves, but by hearing these stories and sharing them with others, we hope to someday, somehow, truly be able to sing:

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

In response to the problems of AIDs, malaria, and deep poverty in Africa, the Northern Illinois Synod sent a delegation this week to Tanzania to accompany Lutheran churches there in their work, and to learn what they have to teach us about being a follower of Jesus. Together, as sisters and brothers in Christ, we join our efforts as well as our voices to sing: 

O come let us adore him, O come let us adore him, O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!

While on vacation in Panama one year, the Burseth family came face to face with the reality of children suffering from the lack of dental care. The Burseths didn’t throw up their hands in despair at a problem so great, but instead offered to God what they had: their passion, their skills, and their vacation time, and started a dental mission among the indigenous people there. Now, because of Mission Save a Smile, there are children who are free of tooth pain, with bright smiles, who can more joyfully sing:

Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her king!

Sisters and brothers, today we celebrate the way Jesus is born again in our hearts, transforming our meager offerings into miracles for others. Thanks be to God. And Merry Christmas!

7th Sunday after Pentecost: July 15, 2012

7^th Sunday after Pentecost: July 15, 2012

Isaiah 43:1-7

Song of Solomon 8:6-7

John 11:1-6, 17-35 

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

"Many Waters Cannot Quench Love"

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

Lately I’ve been following the story of a friend on her CaringBridge site. She’s a cyber friend, really—a woman I met through an online support community for infertility and pregnancy loss. Kendrah had a massive stroke in April at just 35 years old. She is still in the hospital, struggling to walk, to talk, and to care for herself. Her three young children are being raised by relatives while she recovers. Her husband , a doctor himself, is at her bedside every moment that he’s not caring for his own patients.

Kendrah’s story has been inspiring to read, and she’s made great strides considering she was not expected to live, much less recover. But the other day her husband wrote that in spite of her physical victories, Kendrah is struggling spiritually. He teased her one day as she was working on her walking exercises: “Come on, have a little faith”, and she snapped right back: “I have no faith…it’s all used up.”

Most weeks, I would have read this and stopped to say a prayer for Kendrah myself. I might have written her an encouraging note, reminding her how God is with her in her struggles, how Jesus knows her pain, and how the Holy Spirit gives us strength beyond measure. 

But this week, her words “I have no faith—it’s all used up” hit too close to home for me. Our faith has surely been tested here at Bethany the last few months. There has been too much sadness, too many funerals, too much cancer, too many young people, gone too soon.

Monday morning I called the Kearns family to let them know I was thinking of them on what would have been Jennifer’s 20^th birthday. And then Monday night, barely 12 hours later, I was in the hospital watching a strong, handsome 18 year old young man lie in a bed that could barely hold his 6 foot 1 inch frame, as a machine breathed for him. I prayed and read Scripture with Connor’s mom and dad, but I could hardly believe it was happening again. Another young life cut short senselessly. Inside, I was crying out: “Why, God?” What is the purpose of so much suffering? How much can one family, one congregation, one community take? How much can one pastor take, for that matter? In the words of Psalm 13:

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?”

If you came to church today so your pastor could tell you all the answers or explain why this had to happen, I’m afraid you’ll be going home disappointed. I have at least as many questions as you. Here are a few that may sound familiar:

Why do young people die? 

Why should any mother or father have to bury a child?

Why do 8 year old girls get brain tumors?

Why do talented teachers get Parkinson’s and lose the ability to speak?

Why don’t we have a vaccine for cancer or a cure for mental illness?

Most of all, this week, I would like to know: Where were you, God, when Connor was in the water on Monday? 

Believe it or not, seminary didn’t provide me with all these answers. 

As I sat vigil with Jan and Brian at Connor’s bedside this week, I  knew I didn’t possess any good answers or magic prayers. But I did have time, and a Bible—and so I turned to Scripture.

The readings we heard this morning are a few that spoke to me this week, and I hope they might speak to you, too, as we struggle through this grief together.

The first verses I came across were from Isaiah, chapter 43: 

“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour.” 

At first, these verses hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to throw them back in God’s face to say: “But, wait! When Connor passed through the waters, they did overwhelm him! Where were you!”

But then I went back to read the first part again: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine.” 

Before Connor was ever in the Fox River, he passed through other waters. Connor was baptized in water right here at Bethany. His mom and dad brought him to this very font when he was 2 years old, and it was there that he heard the words, “Connor Nelson, you are baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” And then, as a cross was traced on his forehead he heard the words, “Connor Nelson, child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”  

In baptism, God called Connor by name. From that day forward, he belonged to Christ. Our faith teaches us that our baptism gives us our identity. It is a great comfort to me to know that no matter what the newspaper headlines say, Connor will never be the “Crystal Lake man pulled from river”, but he is and always will be “Connor Nelson Priesz, child of God.” 

Another Scripture passage that jumped out at me this week is from a rarely-read book of the Bible, the Song of Solomon. This entire book is basically a long love letter, often interpreted as being about the love God has for humankind. From Song of Solomon, chapter 8: 

“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.” 

“Many waters cannot quench love.” This is most certainly true of the love Connor’s mom and dad had for their son. Jan barely left his side for three days, and Brian’s tenderly written eulogy in yesterday’s service speaks volumes about his love for his son. But this love letter from the Song of Solomon isn’t about parental love—it’s about God’s divine love for us. “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm” says God. In other words: Stick with me. You can even tattoo my name on your arm—because my love isn’t going anywhere. These verses call to mind the words of Romans 8, which proclaim that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” 

These verses may not explain why the waters overwhelmed Connor that day, but they do reassure me he wasn’t there alone, and God’s love for us is bigger than any river. 

Finally, you heard the story of the raising of Lazarus this morning. It might seem strange for us to hear the story of a man who was raised from the dead by Jesus, when we are grieving the fact that our prayers for healing went unanswered this week. 

And yet, this story has a few things to say to this situation. 

Verse 21 says that even Mary cried out in anger: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” It is good to know that our anger, our confusion, and even our lack of faith can be laid at Jesus’ feet. 

But it is perhaps even greater comfort to read verse 35 (every Confirmation student’s favorite memorization verse): “Jesus wept.”

Jesus, the son of God, our Lord and Savior, cried real tears at the death of his friend. This fact assures me that we don’t have to approach death with a holier-than-thou, everything will be fine, “It’s ok, he’s with Jesus” attitude. Jesus wept, and so can we.

After turning to Scripture this week, I also turned to my seminary preaching professor, Dr. Craig Satterlee, for some guidance and prayer. I posed the same questions to him: Why? Where was God on Monday? Was God in the water with Connor? 

And this is what he said (via Facebook chat, as I sat in the ICU):

“Jesus was in the water with Connor. "God" is too impersonal for me. Jesus was drowning with Connor. St. Ambrose says Jesus is buried with us, whether we are buried in water or dirt. And Jesus will raise Connor to new life. That Jesus did not do so on Monday is beyond comprehension. So we can only raise our fists to God, who loves us enough to receive our outrage. And we can dare to trust God to raise us from this death to new life. But it comes slowly and takes a long time.”

My only response—after a few tears—was to write to Dr. Satterlee: “Thank you.” Thank you for preaching to me. Thank you for having faith for me when mine was being tested. And thank you for giving me the strength to continue this walk with Connor’s family, and with Bethany, my church family. 

Sisters and brothers, I give thanks to God for each of you, and for the opportunity we have to walk together in our grief, to hold one another in prayer, and to serve the God who has called us each by name, and who never lets us go. Amen.