John 20:19-31: It’s time to sit out on the front portal

The other night Kay Calvacante and I were going to my house after playing soccer. It was a beautiful evening, about 50 degrees out, warmer than it had been, the sun had just set. As we pulled onto my street just off of Cerrillos, everything was completely quiet. No one was to be found outside, no movement in the street or in anyone’s front yard. Kay said that that is one thing he misses about living in Brasil where he lived for about 10 years; there during the day or in the evening there is movement and activity in the streets, people are out and about.

But not here...at least not so much anymore. Once, it may have been common practice to sit outside, to interact and live life in the presence of others. Know the names of those who live nearby. But not so much anymore. If we sit outdoors in the evenings it’s in the back of the home rather than the front—it’s more quite there—we can read and relax and have a drink without being disturbed; Or better yet indoors: there is climate control, and no disturbing noises from birds, plus there’s a TV indoors, that has a lot of programs. We can lock our doors and close our blinds and escape from the outside world altogether.

John sets up the story of resurrection by telling us of the disciples hiding behind locked doors out of fear. Mary had made it back from the tomb, she had told the disciples she had see the Resurrected Lord!!! But they were still paralyzed by fear.

Going down the street that night with Kay and seeing no one on the streets, you’d think we lived in a pre-Resurrection world. Everyone hiding behind locked doors out of fear.

And without a doubt, had TV’s existed back in Jesus’ day, our story may have gone like this: “When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked, the disciples were watching TV. And Jesus came and said, Peace be with you, but he was standing in front of the TV. “Uh, Jesus, you know you make a better door than a window. What’d you say anyway?”

Funny thing is that the disciples still don’t seem to get it even after this encounter with Jesus. They had seen him but a week later they’re still behind closed doors by the time Jesus comes around for a second time. This time Jesus appears to Thomas.

I’ve said it before, but for me Thomas is a real hero. He assures me that it is okay to be pragmatic, a realist; fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. Was it because Thomas didn’t believe his friends that Jesus came to him? He had to see Jesus himself, he had to touch Jesus, hear his voice, and then he would believe. Thomas knows that the world is not a safe place; and that the ones who did in Jesus are out there probably ready to get Jesus’ disciples as well. So he demands proof.

We know the world is dangerous, which is why we must stay inside behind locked doors.

The other day when I was in the airport, I was bombarded with security measures:

Your attention please, in the interest of safety, please do not leave your bags unattended. If you see an unattended bag please alert airport security at once.

Your attention please, the current level of threat is orange. Orange is the current level of threat. Enjoy your travels. What the heck is orange?

Going through the security checkpoint: Sir, can you please remove your jacket, your hat, your belt and your shoes before passing through the scanner. Please remove your laptop from your bag; and I’ll need to see your boarding pass.

I’m sure all of these measures are necessary, but it sure does make me suspicious of everyone.

It makes me want to stay behind locked doors…Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands.

Thomas demands proof because he knows the world is disappointing. Thomas experienced this first hand at Jesus’ crucifixion; disappointment with himself for having run away in fear, disappointment with Jesus for not having lived up to what Thomas had hoped. Thomas had been with Jesus for three years and seen some incredible signs pointing to a reality beyond the one he had previously known…water turned to wine, sight given to the blind, the lame made to walk, the forgiveness of sins. This was what Thomas hoped to be really real. But now Jesus was dead… disappointment.¹

This is the same disappointment we have all experience when the reality of life has crashed down on us. When we’ve let ourselves down, when others have let us down, when God lets us down: Been praying for so long for that child to get clean…and nothing changes. I’ve been hoping for so long for a job to come along…and nothing is working out. Inability to conceive a child, relationships failing in bitterness, death of someone so close to us. It makes it hard to go outside…"Unless put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side."

I’ll wait for Jesus to appear, and say, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt, do not fear, believe.”

It’s hard to tell if Thomas ever does place his finger in the mark of the nails, or his hand in Jesus’ side; Jesus invites him to, but standing face to face with the Risen One, he can only fall to his knees in confession: My Lord and my God. Thomas knows he is in the presence of God; he has been saved and redeemed by God; He has encountered grace. He has known peace.

His reality that was once full of despair has been transformed into a reality of hope.²

One week ago we celebrated the hope of resurrection. It was pretty cool, a friend told me that because of Easter, because of the message of hope, he was inspired to share hope. After church, a homeless couple came by his place looking for a bit of work. Sure, he said, and he had them clean his small front yard; took about an hour and he paid them $40, and bought them lunch. After eating the lunch they made their way down the road, but then a few minutes later strangely, they came back to his house. “Excuse me sir,” one of them said, “we found this dog wandering in the street, would you like to have it?” My friend and a small chihuahau-pug mix, with the cutest little face, an under-bite to make it look tough were staring at one another. A sucker for animals, this dog—now named Fred—found a home instantly. Fred’s become an instant companion on walks and while watching TV. Fred had a collar with no tag, he looked fairly well taken care of; we wonder if this homeless couple had been taking care of Fred, but maybe couldn’t any more, and wanted Fred to have a good home. They knew they had found one in my friend. And it all began with my friend wanting to share Easter hope of grace.

Peace be with you, Christ says to the skeptical, frightened Thomas. Grace comes in so many forms. The unexpected apology of a coworker for not treating you with respect. The undeserved forgiveness of your sibling. The all too often unnoticed tenderness and fidelity of a spouse. But when grace comes, it means that lives are transformed by the mercy of God in Christ Jesus: Peace be with you.³

Easter hope does not mean we escape the realities of this world. But things can be different. Something is new. We can witness to God’s grace, God’s new kingdom, intruding into and transforming the kingdom of this world, and nothing, not work, not school, not our relationships, not even life and death will ever be the same.

When we live life in hope, with grace and mercy, we live as people who believe yet have not seen. Blessed are those who have not seen, yet have come to believe. Our lives are transformed as we see the world differently. We can celebrate Easter not just on one day, but everyday. Easter becomes a way of life, because we become people full of hope.⁴

Hope for today. Hope that a relationship may be reconciled. Hope that an adoption can take place. Hope that war will end. We can pray for Waldo, or Suzanne, or anyone else when illness comes, and we can hope for life, and we can also rejoice that God has defeated the power of death: Where O death, is your victory? Where, O death is your sting. The resurrection did not alter the reality of death. What the resurrection did was defeat the power of death to rob life of its meaning or hope. Where there is life there is hope.

Enough hope and enough courage to move out from the “safety and security” of our living rooms and away from the television, and out on the front portal. Where we can sip on tea, we can read a good book, we can watch kids walk home from school; cars ride by, and folks out walking their dogs without fear, but with reassured hope that our lord has risen.

We can trust: a blessing indeed!

Praise be to God. Amen.

1 David J. Lose, “Realities Old and New,” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2007, pp. 12-14.
2 David J. Lose, “Realities Old and New,”Journal for Preachers, Easter 2007, pp. 12-14.
3 David J. Lose, “Realities Old and New,”Journal for Preachers, Easter 2007, pp. 12-14.
4 David J. Lose, “Realities Old and New,”Journal for Preachers, Easter 2007, pp. 12-14.

Did She Have a Story to Tell

John 20:1-18 Easter, Westminster Presbyterian Church March 23, 2008

This week has been marked by a lot of sobering talk: the 5^th anniversary of the US led invasion of Iraq and protests against the war, newly recorded threats from Osama bin Laden and protests in Amsterdam against an Islamic film. Discussions of Gun control in the Supreme court and race in the Obama campaign; not to mention the tanking economy and continuing effects of global warming.¹

And in the Church, we recognized the somber events of Holy week:

Last Supper reenactments took place with over 50 people gathering in the Barnes, Chavez-Nadell, and Topple homes to remember Jesus last meal with disciples. Gerzain was subject to eating just beans and bitter herbs, and no ice cream for dessert, and he was the last to wash feet, after over 40 feet had been washed in the basin, the water was a little murky.…??? Later that night some from the congregation joined hundreds on the solemn trek to Chimayó. They came away tired and sore, but some still managed be part of the gathering here Friday night when we remembered the harsh shouts: Crucify Him! Soldiers’ painful blows across Jesus face, and the torment and humiliation of hanging from the cross.

Did anyone notice that is spring?

Almost before Miquela Martinez could hop through our door Thursday evening, she said, ”Chester, did you know that today is the first day of Spring!”

Why yes, we have started playing soccer again out at the train park, and baseball’s spring training is almost over. In our yard, buds are showing on some shrubs and trees that desperately need pruning. I’m pretty sure our heating bill will be less this month than last. I don’t doubt that it will snow again, but I’m tempted to put some tomato plants in the ground. The hints of spring are nice. Signs of hope to be sure.

One should never underestimate the power of hope. This is why we are a little more crowded than usual this Sunday, we dress up a little nicer; there’s a little more pizzazz in the service with bells and children’s choirs proclaiming Alleluia! Today is Easter, which means more than hunting for eggs or eating a nice meal after church. Easter is the Christian message of hope: Resurrection. He is Alive!

On that first Easter morning, a grieving woman and disciples had no reason to hope. They had seen the hostile crowds in Jerusalem. The betrayal of Judas. Jesus stood trial, was sentenced and beaten, and then walked the long path to Golgotha. The woman saw the mocking and cursing, and his side pierced. Their song was, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”

I’m sure sleep was hard to come by for Mary the next two nights. Dread and anxiety gripped her heart as she replayed the images in her head over and over. What will she do now without this loved one around? It’s during the middle of the second night that she can’t wait any longer, she’s got to go and see. So, before dawn, she slips out of her house as quietly as possible and makes the 2-mile journey into town by foot—hopefully a moon like Thursday nights guided her path.

She gets to the tomb, the sky is turning grey, she sees the stone—it’s out of place. Fear and nervous curiosity increase her beating heart rate. Something’s not right. The tomb is empty. She runs, and tells Peter and the beloved disciple. They run, the sky turns from grey to white to blue, sunrays are penetrating through the sparkling leaves of the olive trees, and birds are busy.

The men enter the tomb, linen wrappings lying there; the cloth that once covered Jesus’ head was rolled up and placed apart.

The two men found an empty tomb, just clothes lying there; and they went home saying nothing. Where was Jesus? Do they know what to make of this?

I think this may be where our biggest struggle with faith is. We all know death and loss, pain and suffering; our own and that of others. Can we still have hope in the midst of this harsh reality? Can resurrection and life lift us out of despair? We may find the tomb empty, but maybe we’re not really sure what to do with linens and no body. Where is Jesus; has he been raised from the dead? Or will death be the ultimate end?

In December, 2000, I received a call from my mother telling me that my cousin, a year and a half my younger, was missing. His car had been found two hours from where he lived. His clothes were found lying on the ground, folded some feet away from a body of water, but no body was to be found. To this day we know nothing. Many trails lead in many directions but the investigators and detectives have not been able to say anything definitively. Was it suicide? Was he kidnapped or killed? We don’t know. We have grieved this loss; the hardest part is not to knowing. Every night to this day, his mother, my aunt, lights a candle in the front window of the house as a sign of hope that maybe he will show up some day.

It is this hope that gives her strength. Her name is Mary, and were you to ask her, she would say that her deep faith in the resurrection gives her hope as well. Resurrection means that the ultimate power of death has been altered. Where O death, is your victory? Where, O death is your sting. The resurrection did not alter the reality of death. What the resurrection did was to defeat the power of death to rob life of its meaning or hope.

Praise God, Mary is still part of the story. She was the first to the empty tomb, and she is the last to leave. The men leave without saying a word. She breaks down and cries, the tears we have all experienced with loss and pain and confusion. She looks up blurry eyed and now sees two angels inside the tomb—a visit from angels in a time of grief…? As she talks to them, a strange man—the gardener perhaps?—is listening in on the conversation with the angels.

“Woman, why are you weeping?” He asks, “Now who is it you’re looking for?

She didn’t recognize Jesus. Were her eyes blurred from tears? Was it one of those psychological phenomena in which the brain can only see what it expects to see? No way she expected to see the man she had just seen brutally murdered on the cross walking around with a garden rake in his hand. Or had he really changed? Who are looking for? he asked.

Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where he is and I will take him away. The story once full of drama, confusion and agony, now turns almost humorous.

“Mary…,” [“hey, It’s me, look who your talking to.”]

Teacher? Mary doesn’t trust her eyes, but she does trust her ears.

The Word who has come into the world is spoken and heard, first. The Good shepherd has called his sheep by name.“²

Is this the difference that Easter makes in our lives? We have come face to face with human suffering, arrived at the tomb and peered in, and it was there in that moment that a voice called our name. Have we come here this morning on Easter because we have heard our name?

Jesus didn’t appear to everyone after the resurrection. He didn’t walk into the city and shout out to the powers look, you tried to do away with me and I’m back. He didn’t even appear to the two disciples who had rushed to the tomb; not at first, anyway. But he appeared to Mary, to Mary, and called her name.

I don’t really know what resurrection means for most of you. But I do get the sense that you have heard your name called, each in a unique but powerful way. Is that true Elisabeth? Is that right Polly? Has God spoken to you, has God called you by name? Something has happened that inspires the deacons to keep on caring, and the session the strength to lead. Algo se les ha pasado familia Cervantes que les motiva seguir a pesar de tantos obstaculos. Terry, Helen, Sr. Giron. You have heard your name called. The question then becomes, how are we to respond?

Jesus has appeared to Mary, but something is different. She reaches to grab hold of him and to keep him with her. But he tells her that she can’t hold on to him. He must return to the Father.

And that she, Mary, is the one who must go and tell of this news. So Mary must release the garment of security, and get up from that place in the garden. She is commissioned to preach this thing that she had seen. And she did! ”I have seen the Lord.” Boy did she have a story to tell. Go to the others and tell them; Share hope, Share Hope.

Easter Sunday invites our curiosity and doubt, it invites our tears and anxiety. The resurrection invites our ears to listen and our hearts to respond. The resurrected Christ invites each and every one of his disciples to share hope.

“If you can but receive the hope, the good news that the past does not necessarily determine the future, if you can receive that, then you will have enough to live for and to die for. The good news of easter is not only that there is life after death; it is the promise of new life before death.”³ In our lives before death, we can share hope. In the midst of cancer, share hope. In the midst of frustration at work, share hope. In the midst of difficult family members, share hope. The tomb may seem empty, but remember just who it is you looking for. He is Alive!

I’d like to share one last Easter story. A little boy was missing school because he was in the hospital. His teacher asked a visiting schoolteacher who worked in a hospital to go visit him and help him with his homework. “We are studying nouns and adverbs in class, and I hope you will help him,” the visiting teacher was told.

When the visiting teacher arrived at the hospital, she discovered the child was in the hospital’s burn unit in very serious condition, and in tremendous pain. She walked in the room dismayed seeing the child in sheer misery. Not knowing what else to do, she stumbled through the lesson, ashamed of herself for putting him through such a senseless exercise.

The next morning, the nurse on the burn unit said to the teacher, “what did you do to that boy yesterday?” Before the teacher could get out her apology, the nurse said, “We had given up on him, but ever since you visited him, he seems to be fighting back, responding to treatment.”

The boy himself later explained that he had given up hope, but it all changed when he had come to the simple realization that they wouldn’t send a teacher to work on nouns and adverbs with a dying boy, would they?⁴

O, the power of hope!

In the midst of our doubt and fear, our pain and suffering, may we hear our name being called. May we receive a powerful message of hope and then be commissioned to share that hope with the world, even in small subtle ways, that may make all the difference in someone’s life. This is the miracle of resurrection! The wonder of Easter!

“Across even the darkest shadows of life, there shines a light that will never fail.”

Just three days ago, Jesus was dead. And now he is Alive! Thanks be to God. Amen.

1 Adapted from Susan Stambergs Commentary, “Spring in the Nation’s capital,” as heard on Weekend Edition Saturday, March 22, 2008.

2 David Bartlett, The Easter Texts: Hope, Comfort, Courage,” in Journal for Preachers, Easter 2006, pp. 3-7.

3 Joanna Adams, “Good News Indeed,” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2004, pp. 38-41.

4 Adapted from Joyce Holliday story as told by Joanna Adams, “Good News Indeed,” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2004, pp. 38-41.

I'm Ready To Die

Preached March 9, 2008 Westminster Presbyterian Church, Santa Fe, NM
Fifth Week of Lent. John 11:1-45; Ezekiel 37:1-14

Did any of you hear this story this week? The mayor of a French village has issued a blunt decree to residents: “Don’t Die!” "It is forbidden for any person not having a plot in the cemetery ... to die on the territory of the village." Offenders will face a "severe punishment." "The first dead person to come along, I'll send him to the state's representative," he said.¹

I wonder if this mayor had Lazarus in mind when he considered enforcing this law. Or maybe he was thinking of all of those bones in that body put back together and given new life.

The story of the dry bones in Ezekiel is familiar: “The toe bone connected to the foot bone.”²
We know this morning’s gospel story: Lazarus being raised from the dead.
Were any of you raised in churches that required you to memorize bible verses? Here it is, the verse that you all memorized: Jesus Wept!

Let’s consider for a moment these tears of Jesus. Was it the inability of those around him to see who he was, understand what his life and mission was that got him down? “I am the resurrection and the life, those who believe in me even though they die will live and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die;” but they just didn’t seem to get it; well this is confusing.

Was he swept up by the sea of emotion soaking the scene as mourners gathered around the tomb of a dear friend? When Jesus saw her weeping, and those who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.
This may have been in fact a more dramatic scene than at Steve’s house when Brett Farve announced his retirement this week. Maybe?

But I wonder if these tears weren’t motivated by the future events that would soon take place in Jesus’ life. Jesus was going to raise Lazarus from the dead…Perform the greatest sign--power to conquer death itself. And, because of this miraculous life giving act…many believed, so from that day on they powerful leaders plan to end his life. Could this be why Jesus wept? He saw in that tomb of Lazarus…his own future? Was Jesus ready for this moment? Was he ready to die?

Rapper Notorious B.I.G claimed that he was ready to die in his 1994 album released when he was just 22 years old; he was killed just 3 years later. Martin Luther King, Jr, days before he was killed spoke at a rally and told the world that he had been to the mountain top, lived and experienced an amazing life, he had seen the hope for the future. He was ready to die, and he did just a few nights later. Even, our beloved Alice Martinez, 96 years old, every time I visit with her asks and wonders when “St. Peter is coming for her.” She is ready to die. (She has just recovered marvelously from pneumonia). Was Jesus, who was around my age when this scene took place, ready to die? Are we?

We have all lost loved ones. We witness daily the reality of death. No law can prevent it from happening. We know that our lives will end. This is why we have seasons like lent.

The Lenten journey provides us an opportunity to think long and hard about this life, it’s meaning and how we live it. What really matters? It’s a time for spiritual growth, introspection, and searching for God. This is hard to do. I told myself that I was going to pray more regularly during lent. I guess I did a bit more, but not like I’d planned to do. I told myself that I was going to be more intentional about listening to others, and not let the distractions of my own thoughts and things around me win over my ears…Friends were over yesterday and I had a hard time listening to the conversation with the basketball game on in the background. All these things compete for my attention: T.V. (when I’m somewhere there is a T.V) and radio. projects. adds. these things tell me to look out for number one. And the minute I begin to look outside myself and my own problems I get bombarded by a world of hurt and pain and worthy causes that overwhelm my heart and mind to inaction. Every week, our mailbox here at church is flooded by some cause that is worth giving to.

A natural response might be retreat…live in your own little world, turn the T.V. back on and be mesmerized by an alluring make-believe world that calls itself “reality.” Disengage, fall into everyday routines, and become blind to what’s going on around. Numbing effects of meaningless news and meaningless events. Not to mention the paralysis of fear. Is this living? Or a kind of death? But really who wants to face death?

Listen to an excerpt from the poem, “Self help for fellow refugees,” by Li-Young Lee:³

If you happen to have watched armed men beat and drag your father

out the front door of your house and into the back of an idling truck

before your mother jerked you from the threshold

buried your face in her skirt folds

try not to judge your mother too harshly

don’t ask her what she thought she was doing.

turning a child’s eyes away from history

and toward that place all human aching starts.

It is no mistake that before we get to Easter in just two weeks, these passages from Ezekiel and John insist that we leave the safety of skirt folds, and go to a graveyard;⁴ and there confront the aching we have experienced and pray that God will find us there and give us life. Before we jump to resurrection, we must first face our fears, and move into those unpleasant places of our very existence, Those places where dreams have been buried. Where we have experienced hurt and pain. Where life not longer seems to exist.

Can these bones live? Can these bones live? A forgotten Israel far from its homeland struggling to overcome the pain of exile and seeming absence of God.
Life has been sucked out; there is nothing left but dry bones.

Jesus hesitates before going to the grave-site. He gets the message but he doesn’t go. Jesus doesn’t go. He stays, He waits, two days he delays saying: This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be gloried through it.” For John, the Son of God is glorified in and only in death. So basically he is saying if we go do this thing with Lazarus I will die. Was he ready to die?

Finally, after two days, he tells his disciples: It is time. They’re not stupid, they know that with every step toward Bethany, he’s on step closer to Jerusalem where the hornets are waiting to swarm over him. “You march to your death,” they shout in protest. Until one, Thomas, says, “Let us also go, so that we may die with him.”

This story of the raising of Lazarus from the dead is odd in so many ways for us.
Are we to believe that Christ can bring the dead back to life? Through this miracle are we given a deeper faith? Can we confess with Martha: Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world? For me, something even more significant is that Jesus resigns to the fact that he must put an end to death, not by going around it, but by going right to where it is. Right to the graveyard.

But he doesn’t go alone; disciples are there. Mary and Martha are there. And it is there in the midst of the crowd, tears and wailing, he asks: “Where have you laid him?” “Come and see,” they say. Jesus weeps. These are healthy tears to be sure…most tears are. The words, Come and see, provoke tears.

The very words he spoke to early disciples when asked: Where do you live? He said, “come and see.” These are the same words Philip said when Nathaniel asked: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth? Come and see. The Samaritan woman shouted to her village after she had encountered Jesus at the well: Come and see!⁵ Come and see: A call to discipleship. A call for obedience. Come and see. Jesus friends, without even knowing it, were telling him to come and see tomb where he would soon lie. And Jesus wept.⁶

Come and see is Jesus’ invitation to identify with all of us. Identify with the struggle to live in faithful obedience under conditions of suffering and death; to live in faithful obedience when retreat and avoidance is so much easier…but is not life giving. Jesus knew disappointment, shame, betrayal, and misunderstanding. Should the shepherd ride in the Prius while the sheep walk along on the dirt road? Should the girlscouts sleep on the cold ground in the dark woods while the leader relaxes in a nearby motel?⁷ Were Jesus not to have gone through these things, would we pray in his name? Would we sing, “Que Amigo nos es Cristo? Would we have a Friend in Jesus, were he unwilling to confront the reality we all must face?⁸

And so instead he goes to the extreme. He sets the example. He shouts: Lazarus come out. and now, “the path before him is clear: [For] just as the rule of nature demands the death of the seed in order to have life; Jesus shows us that the rule of discipleship demands the giving of life in order to have life.”⁹ In this graceful act of obedience, yes, Jesus calls the corpse out of the tomb, making room for his own that will soon be placed there.

And yet in some strange way this is a journey that he takes toward life. This step toward death, in the deepest place in our heart, we know is a step toward life not only for Lazarus, not only for the One who would be raised from the dead, but also for all of us!

Through trust in God we are given life in the spirit: the courage and power to face our fears, confront the powers that would subdue our spirits, numbing our lives to a state of nonexistence. Through prayer, our bones rise up and come together, they are given sinews and flesh. Through obedience the breath of God breathes new life in to each and every one of us.

Today we install 5 officers elected in January of this year to provide life to this church. Two of these five have had to face death head on recently. Kathy lost her father in December. And Diane lost her husband, Dick, in January. Even now,

Donna is confronted with cancer taking over her sister’s body. And yet somehow, these three, and all five of these officers, are willing to say here I am Lord. I have heard your call to come, and the time is now. I am ready to die, to give my life in service so that there may be life in this community. Now I don’t want to suggest that by becoming a deacon or an elder the church community takes over your life. I mean you can still sleep. But, it was fascinating to hear the conversation when we gathered here on Wednesday for officer training. Each went around and shared stories that in some way each said: For a long time this church has given me life. People have served on session and as deacons, and it has made a difference in my life. Now I feel like it is time. It is my time to give something back. To give of my life so that there may be life here in this place on 841 W. Manhattan.

This is great group you, the congregation, have elected. This give me hope. May we all experience the joys of life and the joys of relationship, through the gift of your service. May we all be challenged to life and to hope. A life in which we are called to discipleship: a life of faithful obedience. Which means that we are called to die, to give of our lives in love so that we, and others may live.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

1 http://afp.google.com/article/ALeqM5g-91PVN38DfjrPNjXZ38Mqx_IshA
2 James Weldon Johnson
3 As Heard on NRP’s Weekend Edition, Saturday March 8, 2008: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=87784720
4 Barbara Brown Taylor, “Can These Bones Live?” Christian Century, March 13, 1996, p 291.
5 Fred Craddock, “Jesus Wept” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2000, 36-38.
6 Fred Craddock, “Jesus Wept” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2000, 36-38.
7 Fred Craddock, “Jesus Wept” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2000, 36-38.
8 Fred Craddock, “Jesus Wept” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2000, 36-38.
9 Fred Craddock, “Jesus Wept” Journal for Preachers, Easter 2000, 36-38.

Social Action and/or Evangelism

Matthew 4:12-23 Westminster Presbyterian Church January 27, 2008

Skit:

To drop the net or not to drop the net, that is the question.

Don’t you feel like this passage makes it look too easy? Jesus walked by and said follow me and I will make you fishers of people; and they immediately dropped their nets and followed.

Don’t you think a little drama, a moment of hesitancy and doubt would have made for a more interesting story? How we love drama. Well, at the heart of this message from Matthew, this invitation to discipleship, and how it applies to our lives we can find drama.

It has to deal with how this call to follow is lived out; what does it mean to make fishers of people? Jesus invited people to the movement that he was beginning called: the Kingdom of heaven club. Those who were part of this movement were those willing to listen to the message, and those willing to follow him. God continues to call us; as many of your experiences of hearing and accepting this invitation would tell us.

What amazes me is that, different from Peter and Andrew, we didn’t meet Jesus at la orilla. We didn’t hear his voice. He wasn’t standing there before any of us like I am standing in front of you now. And yet, the call was still heard; and there has been a response. This call to follow is essential to the movement, it is very much part of our church as we talk about people being called to various ministries, as officers, preachers, care givers.

And, this morning I want to focus on this second aspect of the heart of this message taught at that lake in Galilee. I will make you fishers of people, Jesus says. What is Jesus calling us to do? once I drop the net, what do I do next? This portion of the encounter may make us a little be nervous.

Often this aspect of the Jesus invitation to follow and make fishers of people, is considered in two ways.

1. Following Jesus means Evangelism,

2. Following Jesus means social action.

Both of these are valid responses to this invitation…but for some reason they have been separated as different missions of the church, and in no way related to one another.

For those who lean toward evangelism, you can cloth the naked and feed the hungry all day long, but if the recipient doesn’t know the good news of the gospel it is all for nothing.

For those who lean toward social action: It is offensive to proselytize and “win” converts,

it is imperialistic, and presumptuous.

There are churches, often labeled evangelical churches, where it is believed that the most important thing in responding to the call is to evangelize and make disciples. Seek conversions so that people will be saved. Look at what Jesus does immediately after these men follow him: He goes throughout Galilee proclaiming the good news of the kingdom. So some take on the very message Jesus and John preached: “Repent!” And they demand that people come to know Jesus for eternal salvation.

I must admit, there was a time in my life when I lived out a life of discipleship in what some may describe as evangelical. I had a passion to share the gospel, to tell people about Jesus, praying that opportunities would be given to me, doors would be open to share the good news. I genuinely was concerned about people’s eternal salvation, and was burdened and grieved by the possibility that those who had not been evangelized would suffer terrible consequences…fire, weeping and knashing of teeth. My grandfather, Chester, was worried I’d gone off the deep end.

And I’m sure for many of us, that kind of proclamation, that kind of discipleship makes us nervous, and even offends us. We are sensitive; and we don’t want to offend people by suggesting we may know more than they do about God. Also, our reformed theology teaches us a broad understanding of God’s love and grace, and that ultimately God is in control;if people are to come to know and follow Jesus, God will make it happen. We love it that St. Thomas said: Proclaim the gospel at all times, use words if necessary. And most of the find, we don’t find words very to be necessary, at least not when it comes to proclaiming the gospel!

The second way that many interpret this message to follow and make fishers of men is through social action. Look at what Jesus does immediately after he calls those fishermen to follow: He went throughout Galilee curing every disease and every sickness among the people. It is through our good works; ministries of compassion and mercy that we make fishers of men. Give time and money to charity. Open doors to the stranger. Clothe the naked, feed the hungry. These are very worthwhile projects. But what makes these distinctly Christian?

This past month, Pope Benedict, has announced to Roman Catholic mission workers that they need to be proclaiming that Gospel message far and wide, not in deed only but in words as well.

True missionaries preach the Gospel, aiming to bring converts into the faith, he said. All the world needs to hear, believe, and obey the Gospel of Jesus Christ.¹

While this message from the pope may come as a surprise, it is not an unknown fact that the Roman catholic church is losing adherents in droves to more “evangelical” movements, led by people who seek to win converts and are growing immensely. Well, it is not an unknown fact that the Presbyterian Church and other mainline churches, including this one right here, that have shied away from proclaiming the good news in “word,” have also been losing adherents in droves. We find ourselves in a similar situation to the Roman and other historical churches.

We have done a pretty good job with ministries of compassion and mercy, in recent years, but, as I’ve said, been a little reluctant to use words when necessary.

At last year’s officer retreat the major goal of the elders was easy to identify: Grow the church. To have more members. Why? Surely we don’t seek growth just for growths sake, or simply to survive. Why grow: Now that was a little more difficult to name.

As I have wrestled with my own faith, my own call to follow; my own dilemma to make fishers of people…I have seen that so often evangelizing and social ministries are separated. During the time I was doing mission work in Latin America; seeking to build a ministry for college aged men and women. My faith was challenged as I experienced life, and a world different from the one I had known. People’s experience and understanding of God was different from what I had experienced; and as people shared with me their stories, I was challenged to reconsider what I had been taught and what I believed. I had to really examine what Jesus meant when he called me to follow and evangelize. If it is not to save people’s souls, then why proclaim good news? As one teacher put it, Chester, you don’t follow Jesus and proclaim good news for the salvation of others, rather, you do it for your own salvation. My own salvation, why, I was already saved right? Well, evidently not, for I was carrying a heavy burden. I was holding a net in my hands so that I could still have some control. The news I was preaching about Jesus wasn’t necessarily good.

What then, what was I supposed to be doing as a missionary in Santiago, Chile? As I was rediscovered my own call to discipleship, I was seeking discover anew what Good News meant.

Good news preached is preaching salvation, release from captivity, freedom from bondage.

As I sat with Diane in her struggling with the loss of her beloved husband, we sought words of comfort and words of hope found in our faith. As we remembered Dick’s life here on Thursday, we celebrated the resurrection, and proclaimed that death does not have the final word. Hope was proclaimed, even in our pain and loss.

And as I struggle what to do as one who wants to drop my net, follow and make fishers of people, I’ve come to discover that feeding the hungry and clothing the naked are matters of salvation. Yes, someone gets fed and clothed but, the one who helps to make that happen experiences salvation as much if not more than the recipient of these kind acts.

Donna has come up to the church every morning at 5:30 to be with the homeless women who have been staying here to help get breakfast ready. She said to me, you know, I don’t know what it means for the women that are staying here, but coming up here has really made me think a lot about my own life; I have learned from these women and gained new perspective.

This is salvation…discovering God in the midst of discovering something new about yourself.

As I look at what Jesus did after he called these disciples to follow, promising to make them fish for people, he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness. There is no separation of preaching and acts of mercy and compassion. The news that is proclaimed is GOOD NEWS! God is a God of love and mercy. This is a message to proclaim and this is a ministry to live out in our lives.

While there is no formula to how we are to live out Christ’s invitation to follow, I wonder if we as a church can seek to discover how we might participate in God’s mission in the world.

Can we live into our calling to follow through a merger of social action and proclaiming GOOD NEWS!

One evening last week I invited a neighbor on the verge of a serious confrontation with his grown son to come up to the church and check out what was going on, as we hosted homeless women. We’ve become friends and he knew I am a Presbyterian minister. He’s never been much of a church goer himself. But he and I get along with each other pretty well, and he trusts me, so he came with me. He met those up here from our congregation who were hosting, cooking food and sitting with the women that were here. He met the women. We stayed just for about 20 minutes and he left a changed man. He said, Chester, I needed that, it totally mellowed me out. You saw how angry I was, and I think I can just go home now and deal with my son later.

We can merge ministries of social action with evangelism; preach to good news and seek justice and mercy in the world. I love to see Grace’s enthusiasm for healing ministries. As I have sat in her classes and witnessed her apply this ministry of healing to her life, there is a beautiful relation in what is taught and practiced between proclaiming gospel, witnessing stories of Jesus healing, and then praying and seeking healing in the lives of those who seek wellbeing and wholeness.

This is participation in Missio Dei, God’s mission. Jesus invites each of us to follow and he will make us fishers of people. He encourages us to go throughout the city proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and sickness. The light has shined and those who had lived in darkness are drawn to that light; as a moth is drawn to a flame. This good news preached is one of joy and hope. For the yoke of our burdens, the bar across our shoulders, the rod of that which oppresses us is broken.

Do we drop our nets to follow…yes when the timing is right and we encounter anyone who needs to hear good news, and needs prayer and encouragement to help cure them. While for some this may imply a change in occupation and a new direction in their life…from industrial engineering to ministry. But, if you look at Peter, it wasn’t long before he was fishing again, at the end of the gospel of John. Casting his nets, he had to eat. Yet, he now knew that there was more to life than just his own lively hood. His life was to be shared with the world as he shared words of good news and sought to heal those who needed healing, working for the kingdom of God.

1 http://www.pres-outlook.com/tabid/2059/Article/6648/Default.aspx

Psalm 29: Caution No Swimming

Laura Kuster, great guest preacher

Psalm 29

¹Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.

² Ascribe to the LORD the glory of his name; worship the LORD in holy splendor.

³ The voice of the LORD is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the LORD, over mighty waters.

⁴ The voice of the LORD is powerful; the voice of the LORD is full of majesty.

⁵ The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars; the LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon.

⁶ He makes Lebanon skip like a calf, and Sirion like a young wild ox.

⁷ The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.

⁸ The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness; the LORD shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.

⁹ The voice of the LORD causes the oaks to whirl, and strips the forest bare; and in his temple all say, "Glory!"

¹⁰ The LORD sits enthroned over the flood; the LORD sits enthroned as king forever.

¹¹ May the LORD give strength to his people! May the LORD bless his people with peace!

It’s amazing how quickly the liturgical cycle moves us through Advent, to Christmas, then Epiphany, and now to this Sunday, on which we celebrate the Baptism of Christ. I, for one, have always wondered why we celebrate this day now … and what it is, exactly, that we are celebrating. Is this a day on which to give thanks to Jesus, who sought out, in some eccentric and soggy fashion, the blessing of his divine Father? Or, do we celebrate the exalted Parent, who at baptism appears to publicly and officially “claim” Jesus and Son and Savior? Heck, do we give thanks for John, who seems to have started this whole fad to begin with, and who, in all his befuddled unworthiness, nevertheless dunked Jesus in the waters of life? All of the above? None of the above? Jesus, parabolic as usual, lets us know that, for now, being baptized by John is means to “fulfill all righteousness” (Matt 3:15). And confirming all of this is God’s voice, breaking through the heavens, blowing over the waters, claiming and loving.

What surprises me is that nothing caught on fire, blew up, or drown when God’s voice descended from the heavens. I’d thought there might be an echo from the Psalmist in the Matthew passage, but no. There is no report of the riverside cedars being broken in half, no whirling oaks or stripped forest. No earthquake in the wilderness. No fireball, no flooding arroyo. As far as we know, everyone emerged from the scene more or less physically in tact, without even a singed beard or a splinter. So what of the violence woven into the Psalm? What of the breakage and destruction? What of the thundering majesty of God, the wild cavorting of the world ablaze in worship? What of the blessing and peace bestowed by our Creator, conqueror of the violent, flooding depths?

Admittedly, the flooding depths imagery is somewhat innocuous for me; I have never experienced the visceral violence of water. Growing up in Minnesota, water was everywhere. Winter or summer, we ran outside and flung ourselves in it. I began to swim when at 9 months of age (I was slightly older when I learned how to operate a snowblower. ) I simply did not understand how anyone could be frightened of water – until I spent the summer after college graduation working at Ghost Ranch, teaching swimming lessons to the local community. And by local I mean a 45 mile radius. Kids and their parents would flock in from as far away as Tierra Amaria for a 50 minute swim lesson and a day at the pool. They were thrilled with the novelty. Yet it never failed…one out of every two parents who walked their child over to the edge would say, “have fun. But don’t drown.” At which point I’d spend some minutes convincing the petrified child that water was fun, water was your friend, and here was a fluorescent green noodle floatie to help prove the point. By the end of a session, they believed me, and couldn’t wait to come back. Those were the kids. I also had one class of adults, who met on Tuesday evenings. Four women in their 30’s and 40’s who wanted to learn to swim. Trusting the water was a bigger issue for them, but even then I succeeded in teaching the majority of them to at least paddle across the width of the shallow end. Except for one woman. Night after night, while her classmates were splashing and kicking, I would stand in the middle of the pool with her, cradling her as she floated on her back. I still remember it – very distinctly. My head down next to hers, murmuring comfort and encouragement as she took deep shuddering breaths. How we would just stand there, in intimate watery embrace as the sun set over the mesa and the stars came out. Never once in the 10 weeks I taught her was I allowed to let go. Eventually I came to understand why. Her brother, she told me, had drown that spring. There was a reservoir a few miles down the road. He and his buddies had been out in a boat. Alcohol was involved. They never found him. But she came every Tuesday night, in a black tank suit, to step gingerly down into the 3 ft. and let me pull her back against me until her head rested on my shoulder in the water. Then we’d process out into the middle of the pool and just…be. I was dense at 22 – I pushed her a few times to front float over even doggie paddle – always with me supporting her. Then I’d applaud madly while she looked non-plussed. I didn’t realize that her accomplishment was simply getting in the pool every Tuesday. Surrendering herself to and seeking harmony with the very element that killed her brother. Life and death, literally on her skin. Her being submerged in synchronous violence and salvation.

I have come to know a visceral violence of a different sort. And my fear of it meant a different sort of submersion. I was 24 and a newly married military wife when the planes hit the twin towers. I was 26 when my husband rode the first wave that besieged Baghdad. For me the first months of the war were ones of uncertainty, denial, loneliness, and fear. When my husband came back physically in one piece, we faced a death of a different sort – one manifested in post-traumatic stress, domestic violence, and the ultimate destruction of our marriage. I emerged from that abyss afraid of so many things…yet when an opportunity came to travel in the Middle East, I jumped at the chance. And so I waded into Jordan, Lebanon, Syria… until I stood 90 miles from the Iraqi border and got no further. Then my group circled round to Israel, to the very wilderness of Kadesh today’s psalm refers to. It’s in the northernmost quadrant of Israel, north even of the Sea of Galilee. It’s in this area that the streams rushing down from Mt. Hermon form the headwaters of the Jordan River. And don’t let anyone ever convince you that the Jordan River is only a docilely meandering stream. At the headwaters it rushes and boils and cascades and one takes heed of the “Caution: No Swimming” signs posted. But even though I didn’t actually get into the water, I understood that I had submerged myself in something similar to my swimming student years ago. I’d allowed myself to sink into that which had caused me so much pain – I’d followed Iraqi oil trucks across the deserts of Syria, driven by the anti-aircraft guns that dotted the wasteland. I’d stood very still in the midst of the swirling hate of religion and politics and, in the arms of my travel companions and tour-guides, I’d felt a lifeline and a hope for life after pain, after war, after death.

So, there was to be no swimming in the headwaters of the Jordan. But I didn’t see any signs warning “Caution: No Baptizing.” The Matthew text doesn’t say where exactly John was. Jesus just went out from Galilee to meet John in the wilderness. Perhaps in the wilderness of Kadesh. Perhaps near the head of the Jordan, where the waters are icy and dangerous and very, very alive. What’s more, aside from any peril the river itself might impose, if those present were anything like you and me – and I think they were – they already knew death of a sort. In our world there are so many things that kill us, parts of us, pieces of us. There is so much intrinsic violence. The violence is not of God, yet it permeates God’s world. And realizing this makes Psalm 29 seem much more real, and more comforting. We live in a broken world, as broken people. God claims the breakage, embodies it, masters it, and defeats it. The ultimate result is that God sits enthroned above the very waters that would drown and destroy us, and offers us strength, blessing, and peace. So no, I guess nothing had to blow up or overflow when Jesus was baptized. There was going to be enough of that to come…at a different time when the same Beloved Son was to drown on top of a cross on the mount of skulls. And what we celebrate in Jesus’ baptism was the presence of God amidst the destruction. The life swirling into and dissolving death. The submerging and the re-emerging. The drowning of the old ways and the resurrection of the new. We celebrate the gift of the Creator, the sacrifice of the Son, and the arms of our fellow mortals who hold us in connection with the Body of Christ. Such, perhaps, in the words of Jesus himself, is the “fulfillment of righteousness” – the foundation laid for salvation and healing, between ourselves and the elements, between one person to another, and between ourselves and God. It’s a physical, visceral experience, and God calls us to feel it on our very skin, that we may feel it in our very souls.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Changing Diapers May Change You

Matt. 2:1-12 Epiphany, WPC January 6, 2008

Christ has been born. Has your world been changed forever?

It’s fascinating how birth changes things. I remember when my nephew Henry was born. My brother-in-law became so protective and cautious around us all; insisting that we wash our hands anytime we entered the same room as little Henry; keeping a watchful eye on us when we held him. Yet, when that baby was in my arms, the world was strangely different. Any tensions that may have previously existed were forgotten. All I could think was what a miracle; what a gift.

Valerie Garcia told me that she was relieved for obvious reasons that the child inside of her, in both instances of Bela and Antonio, was out of her body. Yet she was conflicted. She felt remarkable peace and tranquility holding her child in her arms; and at the same time, she could no longer protect the child as she once could before when it was in her womb. Her life was changed forever. (Harold’s?)

Jaleesa’s birth resulted in her mother putting her up for adoption, and Christel and Sander becoming the happy new parents. Now they see the world differently than before: They used to travel, and they rode their bikes around everywhere, now they are changing diapers, they must prepare many unusual things to carry with them before they can even set foot outside of their house: feeding formula, strollers, diapers, rags whatever; They can’t strap Jaleesa onto their bikes, yet! As a result of Jaleesa’s birth four people travel great distances to see her. Christel’s parents had visited only a few months back. And soon Sander’s parents, who had previously vowed they weren’t going to travel anymore. This baby has altered their perspective; changed their plans.

It was the birth of a child that led three wise men to travel from far away places in the east in search of this child. We know this story. They came from the East, “bringing gifts of Gold, frankincense and myrrh,” singing as they went, “We Three Kings of Orient Are.” But it appears they’re lost when they get to Jerusalem, “Where is this future king of the Jews who has been born? Isn’t Jerusalem what the prophet Isaiah foretold? Had they programmed the wrong address into their GPS system?

Isaiah 60…

An old poem recited to Jews in Jerusalem about 580 B.C.E.. inviting depressed, discouraged people in the midst of a city in shambles: no economy, little new possibilities to look up and hope; God is about to do good:¹ Arise, shine; for your light has come…the Lord will arise upon you.

Jerusalem would become prosperous, the new international trade center. The nations—their leaders and traders—would come bringing wealth. Great camel caravans would come from Asia, loaded with exotic goods and rare spices: gold and frankincense. (v 6b)

These three foreign wise men from Asia knew what was to happen. They were fulfilling the poet’s vision: “Arise, the time has come, Jerusalem is our destination: Out of our way!”

But Herod doesn’t exactly roll out the red carpet upon their arrival: He was frightened; frightened because a new king in Jerusalem would be a threat to the old king and to all those who trusted in and benefited from the old order.² Still for some reason, horrified Herod calls in his best aids, experts in sacred texts… to help the wise men out? What is this unwelcomed birth? And…Ah Ha!! Could this be it? Did they have the wrong scripture? It’s not Isaiah’s prophetic poetry—promising a future that ensures the powerful will remain powerful and prosper and that the status quo will remain intact—Isaiah won’t lead to the place of the newborn king.

Instead it is the voice of the prophet Micah, the voice of a peasant: from you, O Bethlehem, shall come forth one who is to rule in Israel, A peasant not impressed with high towers, huge sporting facilities, multinational banks and Wall Street. The little ones think about a different future—organized for well-being in resistance to the great powers. The voice anticipates a common leader, who will bring well-being to his people, not by great political ambition, but by attentiveness to folks on the ground. And they shall live secure…and he shall be the one of peace.

So off the magi go to the little town of Bethlehem, the hometown of king David, a little rural place, dusty, unnoticed, humble Bethlehem. This was the proper place for this unnoticed,

uncelebrated peasant birth….a birth that who would confound kings and intellectuals, and would provoke savage violence in Herod. And in the end, their visit to this peasant baby,

wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger changed the lives of the three magi forever. Before they seemed to be searching for power and glory, flocking to the potential center of power and prestige. In Bethlehem, they encounter humility, poverty, meekness,

and a precious baby, a different kind of king. And now, they don’t return to Herod as had been requested. They don’t seek their own self-serving interests or those interests of the powers.

They find alternative routes to pursue. They seek a different way home.

Today we celebrate a year that has gone and anticipate a year to come. Today we celebrate Epiphany which encourages us to anticipate the future Epiphany—the story of two human communities: Isaiah’s community of Jerusalem with its desire for greatness in the future…

and Micah’s little peasant village of Bethlehem with its modest promises.

Epiphany announces two ways of living we are always choosing between, a way of self-preservation and acceptance of the status quo, or through the encounter with the Christ child an invitation to practice life lived in vulnerability and self-sacrifice.

All this to say: What is our experience of the babe lying in a manger? How has the birth of this prince of peace, of Emmanuel changed our lives? Do we still pursue the interests of the powers? Seek to appease those in high positions with the hopes that it will serve us and we will gain prestige? Or have we discovered an alternative route; a different way home after coming face-to-face with baby Jesus: One of love and peace; of humility and meekness.

It’s really hard to imagine what an encounter with the baby Jesus would have been like; to see Mary and Joseph struggling to keep him warm, to keep him clean and fed. We didn’t see their fear when they had to run to Egypt for their lives because of political threat. Yet, I wonder if we can catch even a glimpse of the baby Jesus in every single baby that is born. What would make new-born baby Jesus distinct from another new born baby? What difference is there in Jesus from Jaleesa, other than gender? From any baby? A few physical characteristics? Jesus cried, Jesus slept, Jesus suckled. How does an encounter with a new born baby change our lives

and our perspective? Even for a moment? Even for a life-time?

I recently came across a story of a man, Freddy, his cow, and his encounter with a little baby. The grandparents of the baby, Rosa and Drake lived in a village where they were part of the ethnic minority group, with their older son, Cory, and his wife. War broke out and ethnic factions divided neighborhoods. They had been indifferent to the warring efforts, and despite being of the targeted ethnic minority, they resisted moving from their home and getting caught up in the ethnic slandering. But, on a dreary night in June 1992, the police came to the door for Cory. “Taking him away for interrogation,” they said. “but Cory never came back.” Rosa and Drake went nearly every day to the police station to beg for information. They were given nothing; and eventually had to assume he was dead. They were continually harassed by some in the town, and began to consider fleeing, but it would be months before they could get out.

Drake found himself digging trenches and chopping firewood for a living. There was little to eat. They were beginning to despair and to hate.

Five months after Cory’s disappearance, his wife gave birth to a girl. Because of severe food shortages, the mother was unable to nurse the child. The city was being shelled continuously.

Infants, like the infirm and the elderly, were dying in droves. The family gave the baby tea for five days, but she began to fade. “She was dying,” Rosa said. “It was breaking our hearts.”

Meanwhile, a man named Freddy, was keeping his cow in a field on the eastern edge of the town; milking it at night to avoid being hit by Serbian snipers. He had seen this baby. And five days after the baby was born, “just before dawn, someone was at the door,” Rosa remembered.

“It was Freddy in his black rubber boots. He handed us half a liter of milk. He came the next morning, and the morning after that, and after that. Other families on the street began to insult him. They told him to give his milk to his own people, to let the our child die.

He never said a word. He refused our money. He came for 442 days, until we left.”

When Rosa and Drake left, they could no longer communicate with Freddy. The couple said they grieved daily for their son; their home, their losses. But Rosa and Drake also said that despite their anger and loss, they could not recite their own sufferings, without telling of Freddy and his cow. This is the power of love. “What this illiterate farmer did would color the life of another human being, a little baby who might never meet him. In his act lay an ocean of hope.“ Drake whispered, “The milk he had was precious; it was hard to keep animals. He gave us 221 liters. And every year at this time, when it is cold and dark, when we close our eyes,

we can hear the boom of the heavy guns and the sound of Freddy’s footsteps on the stairs.”

Freddy fell on hard times after the war. He ended up selling small piles of worm-eaten apples picked from abandoned orchards. His great brown-and-white milk cow did not survive the war.

It had been slaughtered for meat. He had only a thin, worn coat to protect him from the winter cold. He sat huddled in the corner of a dank, concrete-walled room rubbing his pathetic collection of small apples, against his sleeve.

Yet, when a contact relayed news of Rosa and Drake, his eyes brightened. “And the baby? he asked, “How is she?”³

In spite of all the hardships, a baby can transform fear into love and compassion. In spite of all of the worries, a baby can transform selfishness into self-sacrifice and vulnerability. In spite of our desires for power and prestige, a baby can transform greed into giving.

How might the cries of a new born baby, change our perspectives? How might the Christ child transform our lives forever? Can we hold onto that innocence, can we hold onto that peace?

1 Walter Brueggemann, Inscribing the Text, “Missing by Nine Miles,” 2004, pp. 129-134.
2 Walter Brueggemann, Inscribing the Text, “Missing by Nine Miles,” 2004, pp. 129-134.
3 Modified version of the story found in Chris Hedges’, War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning, 2002, pp. 51-54.