The Unchangeable Tool

A few Sundays ago I watched a preacher read the sermon from an Ipad.  It was not something noticeable from the pew, but seeing the service live stream opened a whole new vista.  At other moments I had noticed scripture lessons being read from a handheld device instead of a Bible with pages.  Imagine Billy Graham at one of his crusades waving an Ipad in the air instead of the old bound version of the Scripture which he held constantly in his hand.  What a different image it would have created!  

I have often said I retired at the right time because the technology was on the edge of changing the old world in which I had worked so long.  In my first office was a mimeograph machine and manual typewriter.  It was some years before I graduated to a word processor and a copy machine.  Before I reached the finish line of my ministry, a computer and printer provided not a printed rendering of my sermon, but a hard copy.  By the time I made it to the farm, both the equipment of ministry and the language had changed so much I was not just a worn out preacher, but an obsolete one as well.   

There is; however, one thing which has remained constant over those forty years of preaching.  The unchangeable tool of preaching is the Bible.  Without it there can be no sermon.  A sermon is not an entertaining talk which tickles ears, but a message which rekindles the vision of the Old Testament prophets who spoke saying, "Thus says the Lord..."  To speak of preaching in such a manner may make some preachers squirm, but to forget this core definition of what is to be done on Sunday morning is to relegate preaching to something less than what it is meant to be.  Good preaching is not about what the preacher thinks, but about what God is saying through the written Word.  There is a difference. 

The Ones Not Remembered

I grew up in the church.  Attending church was never an option.  It was simply what we did every Sunday.  Much to my dismay as a teenager, not even a vacation provided an exemption from attending worship in some church we saw along the road at 11:00 am on Sunday morning.  Shortly after I got out from under the thumb of my parents, I signed up to attend worship every Sunday for the rest of my life.  I do not know how many sermons I have either heard, or preached, but I am sure it would total up to be more than just a few.   

Despite the huge number of sermons I have either heard or preached, I remember only a few.  If the ones I heard and remembered were printed in a book, it would be a thin book and if I did the same with the sermons I remember preaching, there would not be enough for even a thin book.  Yet, what I know is that I am a product of all those sermons, hours of worship, Sunday School lessons, and youth moments.  I can remember some moments when the light bulb seem to come on showing me the way forward, but I think most of what influenced me came through a process of spiritual osmosis.  In other words, some of what I was trying not to hear soaked in anyway and worked to lead me toward Jesus and the road of discipleship.  

Perhaps, that is all we preachers can hope will happen with our many sermons.  While there are always a few exceptional sermons that are keepers, so many of what we preach are more of the soaker variety.  A Biblical way of speaking about it would cause us to raise the image of someone sowing seed.  Preachers sow seed and most of the time never see what happens with the seed that is planted.  Occasionally, we are present for the moment when someone sees the light of God's love and responds to it, but even then it is likely to be the result of a seed planted by some preacher who labored faithfully long years ago.  The good thing to think about as a retired preacher is that some of those sermons which are forgotten and remembered by no one still may be producing some fruit in a seeking heart.

Flawed and Inspired

The Psalms have a way of settling into our souls.  It is no wonder it has been a hallmark reading for the saints through the centuries.  Reading from this section of the Word is a constant in most daily reading schedules whether we are talking about personal devotional times, or something as structured as monastic life.  Many of us remember the 23rd Psalm as the first Scripture memorized and, perhaps, the most widely read passage at funerals and memorial services.  As we go deeper into our own personal journeys, others Psalms have gotten planted in our spirit and remembered at significant moments.   

The Psalms have a comforting component.  They enable us to grow into an awareness of the way we are inside the providential care of the Creator.  Some send us to our knees in confession and some send us up spiritual mountains with our hands raised in praise.  It often seems that when we are troubled, some Psalm will come in an unexpected way to rescue us and point us to the ongoing love and care of the Father God. To say that the Psalms are divinely inspired is truly an understatement when we consider their encompassing power.  

Yet, even as we affirm that they are divinely inspired, we also affirm that God used a flawed and imperfect man as His partner in bringing these thoughts into visible form.  David was a shepherd boy and a warrior.  He was a fugitive and a King.  He was a Israel's most powerful man and a man who flagrantly abused his power.  Through the ups and downs of his life, he kept reaching upward toward God.  It is always amazing the way God uses flawed folks like David and each one of us to do His Kingdom's work.

One Person at a Time

After my oldest daughter adopted the first of four children, she said about the boy who was to be my first grandson,  "I can't save all the children of the world, but I saved this one."  Her words have been remembered many times when what seemed to be an impossible need stood before me.  Jesus did not feed all the hungry people of His world and neither can we in our world.  What we can do is make a difference.  Surely, this is why many volunteer and serve non profit groups in our communities.  Some are focused on the needs of abused women, or people struggling with addiction, or something as basic as giving hungry people food.    

There are people all around us who are seeking to make a difference one person at a time.  This is the goal of most non profits groups that have service as the reason for their existence and certainly it is the goal of so many churches who provide niche ministries such as an after school feeding ministry, or providing quilts for cancer patients, or building handicap ramps for wheel chair patients.  It is a good thing that there are many servants who refuse to become overwhelmed by the magnitude of some need and instead make a decision to make a difference one person at a time.   

It is also true that taking care of the needs of those around is not just the task of a few, or the non-profit groups, or the churches, but each one of us.  Most of us need look no further than our own streets to find people who fall through the cracks of groups and agencies organized to help.  If we know someone who is struggling to make ends meet, or who is living with the pressure of being a 24/7 caregiver, or who lives alone and is in need of a listening ear, then we know where to go to serve.  Jesus used the model of washing feet to speak to us our own calling to serve others.  "...you also should so as I have done to you."  (John 13:15).  None of us are exempt from this call to wash feet, or to make a difference one person at a time.

Early Rising

While I must confess to enjoying more sunsets than sunrises, I also acknowledge that there is something very special about the morning.  The spiritual giants from the past always made such good use of it as they allowed themselves to be energized by the newness of a new day with the God they loved.  I have two favorite morning songs.  One causes me to sing with great enthusiasm, "O what a beautiful morning, O what a beautiful day..."  The second favorite morning song brings forth a spirit of joy and awe as I sing, "When morning guilds the sky, my heart awakening cries, May Jesus Christ be praised..."   I have often gone out on the front porch here at the farm and offered my voice to the praise unfolding to the Creator.    

Morning surely speak to each of us in different ways.  For some it is a sign of God's grace as He rouses us from our sleep for another day of living   For another it might speak of a clean slate and the way God is always ready to offer forgiveness to us.   Some speak of the morning as a symbol of a new opportunity which God is always eager to provide to us.  For the mystics of the past and present it points to a moment for stepping into the stream of what God is about in the world.  Regardless of how it is viewed and described, each morning is a gift regardless of whether it is one of sunshine or rain.   

What a commentary it is on our society to realize that this gift of morning is so wasted and taken for granted.  For so many it is just a platform for launching a busy and activity filled day.  It is not a moment to be experienced, but one which enables us to get started on our journey toward the evening when we feel like we can catch our breath once again for an hour or two.   There is nothing which better prepares us for our daily journey like some quiet time in the morning with the One who gives us the day.  For those who declare they would like to have such a time, but the morning is too filled with preparation for the rest of the day, the solution is simple.  Get up earlier.

The Valley Yet to Be

Some say dreams come and go.  The darkness gives them life and the light chases them away.  Some are indeed so fleeting they are ever forgotten, but some come and never go away.  They linger in the waking hours, they tantalize the soul with unseen realities, and keep our minds captivated in the mystery.  A dream came the other night, or maybe, it should be said, it came in the twilight between here and there.  It was a dream filled with visions of a valley so rich in color and so full of a morning light that was coming that I knew it was a dream of a valley yet to be.  It was like a freshly painted portrait so full of coming light that I knew the valley of my dream was called heaven.    

Perhaps, the dream came in the night it came because of the nearness of the night to the day of All Saints and my thoughts racing toward it.  The list of saints on the other side grows longer with the passing of each year.  I have heard it said by some that there are more friends and family on the other side of the veil than on this side where sight prevails over faith.  As the years continue to bring us to more and more moments of saying farewell, I am beginning to see what is ahead more clearly.  What is ahead is not just that moment when others here will say farewell to me as one gone from here, but instead I know that what is ahead is "a homeland...a better country, that is a heavenly one."  (Hebrews 11:14-16).   

What we learn from our journey from the womb of conception to the heavenly Home is that life is so very precious.  What makes it so precious is the grace of God which for some mysterious reason continues to provide the amazing gift of being here.  Being here makes it possible for us to love and to be loved which is another precious gift.  Being loved and loving enables us to see beyond ourselves and if we learn to look far enough, we begin to catch glimpses of those who have finished the course of this life and the beauty which awaits us in the valley yet to be.

The Hidden Ritual

I think someone has already written a book about visiting a different church every Sunday for a year, but at times I have felt like I was heading in that direction.  Today worship took place in church number nineteen on this journey that goes back about a year and a half.  It has finally brought me to finding a church home, but the journey from being completely disconnected to finding myself connected to a congregation has been a circuitous one.  As one who was never able to do much church visiting, I must admit it has been an interesting experience.    

One of the things noticed again today is what must be a rather contemporary trend as I never would have thought of doing it.  In many of the congregations visited there is no moment for offering plates to be passed along the pews.  Instead, it is announced at some point during the service that the offering plates are at the door so people can put in their offerings as they leave.  In most of the places where this is the practice, the announcement is followed by the traditional singing of the Doxology.  As someone who has seen a thousand offering plates passed among the pews, I find the practice somewhat strange to the point of saying that I miss the offering plates coming my way.   

I wonder about the rationale behind the change.  While I have not talked to today's preachers about the change, I think I know some of the reasons.  Despite the expediency of saving a few moments, or eliminating the discomfort some might experience, it seems that the act of giving is an important part of worship and I miss this particular response being given expression in our gatherings.  Old preachers can get set in their ways and I suppose I am guilty at both points.  Being old and set in my ways.  I just miss making a bigger deal about giving some of what He has given to us back to Him.