What A Friend We Have In Jesus - Joe Ligon & The Mighty Clouds Of Joy, ...

"Five Who Made A Difference" given on 8/23/17 @ Lake Villa UMC (Pulpit Exchange)

 We all know the old saw that behind every successful man there’s a woman. Maybe you’re aware of the variation-- behind every successful person there’s a set of in-laws who are absolutely astonished. Since I personally was blessed with terrific set of in-laws, I can’t testify to the truth of that second one. But I think we all can recognize the truth in the original saying.

And of course, the crucial role of women in history has certainly not been limited to that of help-mate. There have been countless times in history when women have been in charge: The woman Pharaoh Hatsepsup, Deborah in the book of Judges, Queen Elizabeth, Queen Victoria, Margaret Thatcher, Golda Meier, Indira Ghandi, Benazir Bhutto.

And there have been countless colleagues and co-workers. Bill Clinton had Janet Reno and Donna Shalala. George W. Bush had Condoleezza Rice and Karen Hughes. Barak Obama had Hillary Clinton, Masters had Johnson. Captain Picard has Counselor Troi and Dr. Crusher. Even Tony Soprano had Dr. Melfi.

(And since tonight is the penultimate season finale of Game of Thrones. Let me add parenthetically that Quenn Cersie has her brother Jaime and Daenryus Targareon has Jon Snow and Tyrion Lannnister.)

The fact is, the route to success or acclaim or greatness has never been walked alone by John Wayne-- a self-sufficient, lone individual achieving great accomplishments in the world-- relying solely on his or her own character and strength and intelligence and resources.

The truth is, that none of us ever accomplish very much totally on our own in this world. Men or women— great or ordinary— we all need partners, co-workers, advisors, supporters, subordinates, supervisors, friends, spiritual directors, teachers, pastors, protégées, mentors, confidents, prayer partners and role models-- someone to lean on, to listen to, to teach, to learn from, to work with—all of them sent to us by God.

And for all of us, there are always those countless, unnamed men and women upon whose shoulders we stand-- ancestors and predecessors. Those sisters and brothers who came before us, who have contributed to us and to our success in ways that we’re usually not even aware of.

This morning we see how God uses such people-- unlikely people, everyday people-- unheralded people-- even downtrodden, excluded people-- rich and poor-- women-- midwives and mothers and sisters and daughters. This morning we read of how our God used five everyday people like you and me-- their character and strength and intelligence and resources-- to carry forth the Divine plan in the world

Read the first chapter of the Book of Exodus, and it’s clear. While Moses plays the most prominent role in the Biblical narrative, there were five women who were absolutely necessary, critically and unalterably essential, to the success of God’s plan. Wthout them, there could have been no Moses, and perhaps no exodus and no redemption.

Like everybody else in that day and age, the Egyptians were nationalistic and chauvinistic. There’d been a group of foreigners living in their land for four hundred years. In many cases, these immigrants had probably lost their own cultural identity—even their native tongue. But they were still “feerinners. And thugh they taken work that native born Egyptians disdained, they’d prospered where native Egyptians hadn’t always. And they had a higher birthrate than the historic ethnic Egyptians.( I'm just wondering if any of this sounds a bit familiar?)

Like everybody else in that day and age, the Egyptians were paranoid right-wing racist nationalists. These Habiru—or Hebrews were Semites-- the same racial stock as the last wave of invaders who‘ve only recently been driven out. At last one newly crowned Pharaoh saw these undocumented immigrants as more than a source of grunt labor-- he feared they may be a security threat.

Unable to work the Hebrews to death, he decided to check their birthrate. This new Pharaoh commanded the midwives who tended to them, to murder all baby boys born to the Hebrew women. By conscience and profession such a command would have been abhorrent to them. But practically speaking-- this was the most powerful man on earth. Could they dare disobey? Two of them did-- Shifrah and Pu’ah--the first two heroines of Exodus

Summoned before Pharaoh to answer for their actions, Shifrah and Pu’ah concocted an alibi so bold that it almost defies credulity. "Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women," they solemnly affirmed. "They are like animals, and give birth before a midwife can arrive on the scene.”

Most modern translations temper their words to more polite phrases like “more vigorous“-- or “hardier” but the original text is clear. They called their own people “animals”. We’re shocked. But that’s precisely what they knew that Pharaoh wanted to hear.

As medical para-professionals, the women would have known very well how stupid Pharaoh’s plan was. If someone wanted to commit such a horrible act of genocide, it would make more sense to try to wipe out the girls, not the boys.

One man can after all, father children with numerous women-- just as Jacob fathered fourteen children with two wives and two concubines.

Did Pharaoh ever figure out the other fatal flaw in his O-so-brilliant plan for national security? “Let’s kill all the boys. And in the process-- we’ll destroy our free labor force and wreck the economy! Duhh!“

Whether he eventually figured it out or not, once it was the law of the land, this self-proclaimed genius king was stuck with the policy. Pharaoh couldn’t have simply rescinded his orders to murder the boy babies, even if he‘d wanted to. Self-proclaimed god-kings like Pharaoh—just like modern politicians-- can’t afford to admit mistakes, for gods—much less kings (or governors or congressmen) are never wrong. (Just ask them)

Meanwhile, two Hebrew kids from the tribe of Levi-- Amram and Jochobed—had started a nice little family-- a cute little girl. But then, after Pharaoh’s murderous policy was in place, mom and dad conceived another child. Could any couple before or since have ever prayed so earnestly for a child not to be a boy? Remember? "If it is a girl, let it live" .

But God had good reasons to not answer that particular prayer. "She bore a son." And now we meet the third heroine of the Book of Exodus—Jochobed—mother of Moses. One glance was enough to convince her that her son was “good"— not merely beautiful - all babies are beautiful - but "good,"

Tov—the very same word used to describe all of God's creation in Genesis 1. Jochobed’s creation was "good," exactly like God's very best work, and she was determined to protect her own. So "she hid him for three months"

But every mother knows she cannot protect her child forever, and Jochobed knew it too. The decree was still there and would not go away. There was only one thing left to do. When she could no longer hide a lusty three month old baby boy, she was forced to comply with the Pharaoh's decree.

So she cast her own son into the Nile, exactly as she had been commanded to do! ...Well, not exactly. She did make one slight alteration. Pharaoh didn't say anything about baskets. So Moses’ Mom, having joined God as a co-creator of "good," combined her own efforts with the work of the Divine Plan, in order to preserve alive the “good” she has created.

Perhaps Jochobed recalled the story of how God had ordered Noah to construct an "ark," a Tevah, to serve as an instrument by which divinely created life could be preserved. So our Jewish mom built her own Tevah to protect her son.

Did Jochobed cast her tiny son onto the Nile assuming that Pharaoh’s daughter would be bathing at that time? No doubt she was counting on someone being there at this hour. But did she imagine it would be the daughter of the same man who had condemned her son to death? We’ll never know. But in any case, just as the princess arrived, Baby Moses did what all babies do—he cried.

For the baby to have cried aloud at any time before this very moment would have meant his death. But now, precisely at the right moment, it was specifically by crying that the life of little Moses was spared.

What kind of person—especially a woman-- can resist a crying baby? Even a baby of the “wrong” race or color. Anybody's baby. People—especially women react when babies cry. We pick them up. We hold them. We cuddle them. We nurture them. We bond with them. It’s a survival trait hard wired into us. And even the daughter of the most powerful man in the world was not immune. "When she saw the child and the little boy was crying, she felt compassion for him" .

And now we have met the fourth heroine of Exodus-- a woman whose royal but compassionate heart was touched by the sight of a crying child. Could this child be spared? This princess lived in the same house with the foolish, evil king who has no compassion.

I’ve always wondered what happened when this obviously foreign baby showed up at the palace. Was she counting on there being enough spare little princes and princesses floating around that baby Moses would get lost in the crowd? Or did she march up to her father and blithely claim him? Exodus doesn’t elaborate.

However she did it, this pampered Egyptian princess turned out to he surprisingly tough. She used her power to preserve life. She would not destroy the "good" creation of another woman. She defied the most powerful man in the world, and took the baby back to her own father's house. She reared him under the very nose of the man who had ordered him murdered. And we realize-- God did answer a desperate family’s prayer after all.

As the powerful woman peered into the tiny basket, everyone in the drama was frozen into inaction. Except for Miriam-- the baby’s sister, watching from the bushes on the bank. She would one day be a prophet, writer of sacred song, liturgical dancer and religious leader in her own right. But at this moment-- she was five years old. No one had told her what to do. No parent was coaching her offstage.

Yet with direct, childlike innocence our fifth heroine marched directly up

to the Egyptian princess with a proposal shocking enough to belong with the audacity of the midwives and the mother.

"Shall I locate a Hebrew wet-nurse for you?"

Surely the Egyptian princess saw through this thinly-veiled suggestion. Did the woman who had seen the tiny ark realize she was being manipulated by a mere child? Did she even care?

Whichever it was, a miracle had been wrought. These five women—some of whom never even met-- united across race and religion and ethnicity and politics and class to preserve life. For the sake of the life of one tiny baby boy, these women joined hands in a common enterprise. Where death was decreed and expected, these five everyday heroines brought forth life.

The story shows us clearly the sharp contrast between foolish human

arrogance-- and the wisdom of humble listening for God’s word in our hearts.

• Between ignorance generated by power--- and cleverness seasoned with a generous helping of chutzpah.
• Between the cowardice of accommodating evil--- and the courage to stand up for the right.
• Between racism, nationalism, and chauvinism—and the recognition of our shared humanity under God.
• Between using human law as a weapon-- and following the Word of God

spoken to us in our conscience.

• Between our our all-too-human so-called “masculine” drive to dominate and destroy---- and our Divinely inspired so-called “feminine” instinct to protect and nurture.
• Between kidding yourself into thinking that you somehow are a god---, and

humble awe before the True God.

• Between the limited and limiting power of death--, and the unbounded, unlimited, irrepressible power of life (and of the Creator of life itself).

And here’s the irony of God. We know whose those midwives were-- Shifrah and Pu’ah. We know the Jewish Mother-- Jochobed. We know the big sister-- Miriam. And though she remains un-named, we know the Egyptian princess. They have identities, existence, substance. They matter to us, and will continue to matter for all time.

And the punchline is that we don’t even know for sure which Pharaoh it was. He played just a small role, a two- bit villain in a cosmic drama, a drama in which he served as nothing more than a foil for two courageous working women, a poor Jewish mom, a young child, and his own daughter. And that is how he will always be remembered. "Outsmarted by a bunch of girls!" Could there be a more ignominious epitaph for a Pharaoh?

Without those five, deliverance could not have happened. Using them-- their integrity, their love, their compassion, their wit, their heart-- our God began a work of wondrous liberation, and continued to build a faith that would twomillennia later, bring to the world, Moses' spiritual descendant---Jesus the Christ. “Go girls!”

God is calling us to “go” too. If we open ourselves, our Maker will make use of you and me in the Divine Plan as well. Just as we cannot possibly be aware of all those who’ve gone before us and blessed us and contributed to our life’s story, so you and I can have no idea what our faithful acts today might in a year, or a decade, or a generation, or even a century hence, yield in the lives of disciples yet to be born.

At a church I pastured in Chicago, a member told the story of a time when the late Mayor Harold Washington visited that church. Everyone was apparently waiting for Hizzoner to make a speech. He working his way through the crowd, and reached the podium. Then, Washington suddenly stopped, plunged back into the crowd and came up to a slight, elderly woman—Marjoire Keenley-Side, a member of that congregation.

Then this burly. African-American Mayor leaned down and gathered this tiny white woman into his bear-hug embrace. She was a retired librarian from Roosevelt University, who had befriended and guided and mentored a bright young law student on the GI Bill, many years previously She’d apparently never told anyone in her church of her connection to that young man. But he’d never forgotten her.

An everyday kindness, an unplanned act of mercy and tolerance, a minor generosity or prayer for friend or stranger may inspire, or empower, or further the coming of God’s Realm in the life of an on-looker, a protégée, or a companion, or someone we minister to, or even a descendant.

Our God can use your or my smallest benevolence, or our boldest witness to change a life-- or history. Or even our well intentioned mistakes. Who among us knows? How can any Christian not find meaning and purpose for living in a future filled with such an exciting possibility?

You and I may never be aware of all the times and places that we have made a difference—with our words, our actions, our prayers in this world. In the face of such exciting possibilities, how can any of us do anything less, give anything less, serve any less, love our God any less than with all our hearts, our souls, and our minds?

Top Five Regrets

O For A Thousand (Hallelujah) // Ben Haake // God Be Praised

Sweet Honey in The Rock - Wade in the Water

"When Jesus said NO" given August 20, 2017

 Jesus said NO. He refused to heal. He was on retreat, and had been working very nohard. He had been preaching and healing and teaching at breakneck speed. He had done a couple of miracles, fed a crowd or two, He had even walked on water.

Yet it's clear from the Gospel that Jesus was still waging an uphill battle to proclaim the good news in the face of the criticism and opposition of the Pharisees and the just plain orneriness of so many everyday people of Israel. And that must have pained Him a great deal. It was, after all, for the lost sheep of Israel that He'd come.

There is there a very real sense on Jesus' part that he had indeed come to minister to Israel. Clearly Jesus' primary earthly mission was first to his own people. As a human being, Jesus came onto this earth a Jew, an Israelite, one of the Chosen people of God. And He focused his teachings on that particular people, in that particular place, at that particular time in history.

But so many of them had been saying NO to Jesus and his teachings. And so Jesus seeking a bit of respite, Jesus had ducked away from the Jewish areas to the coastal region of Tyre and Sidon. It wasn't very likely that he'd be recognized there. Jesus must have been feeling the need just to get away. Just to take a break, to regroup, to be somewhere else where everybody wasn't either continually putting the arm on him for miracles or else trying to nit-pick the message he was trying to bring.

But even here, in this historic region where the pagans lived, it turned out that He couldn't get away for a little mini-vacation. Matthew tells us how Jesus was walking down the road with the disciples when some

strange woman saw him.

"Hail! Son of David!" She cried. "Have mercy." Most commentators make point out of her form of address. "Son of David" was a royal, Messianic title that the disciples weren't even extending to Jesus at this point.

Despite that, Jesus just kept walking. But the woman kept on shouting, begging, nagging Jesus to come and heal her mentally disturbed child. She was persistent, so annoyingly persistent that the disciples finally asked Jesus to tell her to shut up and clear out. But Jesus continued to ignore her.

Matthew calls her a Canaanite. He uses that rather archaic phrase, to underline her different-ness. She was a pagan. She was a woman. She had borne a child that was abnormal. This woman had three strikes against her as far the disciples were concerned. For her, a gentile and a pagan to appeal to Jesus as Son of David--whichever way she meant it--was for her to appeal to a God that was not her own--a God strange and alien to her and her people.

And Jesus used her mistake. "Yes, you are quite right. I am the Son of David. I have come for the Jews. I did not come for you. I came for the lost sheep of Israel."

But the woman was persistent. "Help me." she cried.

The Jesus got rude. "I came for Israel's lost children. It's not fair to take food intended for children, and feed it to the dogs."

She retorted. "I know you came for those children. But what about my child? Are there no left-overs at the table of the children of the rich? Are there no table scraps for the stray dogs outside the door? Help me, give me the crumbs you would throw away."

At this point, you kind of have to like this Lebanese woman. She has guts. She may not be a Jew, but she has chutzpah. She may be an outsider and a pagan, but she's also a mother and she's gutsy enough to take on this foreign holy man in a verbal duel if it might possibly help her child.

Our reaction to Jesus in this story, on the other hand, is one of surprise. Jesus was downright snotty to her. Worse, Jesus said NO. That just doesn't fit with everything we've ever learned about him in church and Sunday School. It doesn't square with the Savior we know in our hearts. It doesn't fit with the Lord whose very life and ministry teaches us that God's grace is accessible to all peoples. It just doesn't seem right or proper that some poor woman would have to engage in a battle of wits in order to coerce Jesus into healing a child.

It's a scandalous text. Jesus said NO. Could Matthew have made up the story, put that NO into Jesus' mouth in order to grind some particular theological ax? The problem with that cop-out is that this story is also found in Mark. So it's likely that Jesus really did tell the Canaanite woman NO.

Why would he do a thing like that? Why would Jesus say "NO" to this poor woman? And why is it that Jesus sometimes seems to say "NO" to us in our lives and trials? There are some possible explanations. Whichever explanations we seize upon, will say something about who we are, and who Jesus is in our lives.

Maybe Jesus was testing the woman's faith--lots of believers think that all the illnesses and sorrows and challenges that come to them are personal tests from Jesus. Maybe Jesus intended to heal her daughter all along, and he was using the conversation to make a point about the inclusiveness of the Gospel. But both of those possibilities show a mean- spirited-ness that I for one am not very comfortable with.

Maybe Jesus was not at that point, trying to heal the whole world. Maybe was still trying at that point, still working and praying and hoping to minister to in depth and transform that community with which he had a primary relationship. Maybe Jesus knew what some of us forget--that it's folly to try to be so concerned with people in far away places, if in the process we ignore the pressing needs of those under our own noses.

"Bloom where you are planted", says the old saying. You and I are called by our circumstances and our life situation to focus our ministry and attention here--on our own particular corner of God's world first.

But still, we can't totally cut off our concern for those beyond our family, our community, our congregation. Time and again Jesus taught us that we need to heal our own broken-ness before we can bring wholeness to others. Our Lord knew that we must set our own houses in order, tend our own gardens, transform our own communities, remove the log from our own eye, before we set out to change the whole world.

And maybe Jesus was just "miracled out" that day--too exhausted from the hectic demands and pace of his ministry. He was there looking for some peace and quiet, after all. As his anger in the Temple courtyard and his grief at the grave of Lazarus show, the earthly Jesus was fully human--and fully subject to the limitations of this frail human frame.

And perhaps, just perhaps the Creator was using the woman to tell the earthly Jesus in that it was time to escalate his ministry beyond the boundaries of Israel and out into the world. There are times in this life when the needs of others, the cries of the outsiders, simply will not be denied. It's certain that God is capable of using the cries, the call of outsiders in need to confront us and deepen our ministries as believers and broaden our understandings of who exactly is inside, and who exactly is outside.

The Blessings of our God will always eventually break forth and reach beyond the immediate circle. The Love and Power of our Redeemer is the only power that can break the bounds of race and color and creed and ancient enmity and move into the hearts of all. Sooner or later we will hear that call to extend our ministry and mission to the world at large.

Along with affirming that Jesus came as Israel's Messiah, we also affirm that He came as Savior of the world. Jesus had been struck by the Canaanite woman's words--and struck by her faith. Yet he stuck to his NO. He wouldn't totally give up on Israel. He didn't change his route. He didn't go to her child. He didn't touch the child's mother. He didn't touch the child. No prayers, no laying on of hands, no smearing of his saliva on the child's demented forehead. Rather, he simply told the woman,

"You have great faith. You believe in my mission to the Jews. You believe in my power among the gentiles. It is YOUR faith that will help you. What YOU want will be done."

And Matthew tells us that the woman's daughter, who had been possessed by the spirit of madness for years and years was healed by her mother's faith.

It was not to torment this woman that Jesus said NO. It was not to discriminate against her. He must have known that she believed in Him--or at least in the possibility of Him and His mission. Otherwise why would she have spoken?

So I suspect that Jesus said NO, in order to call forth that hope, that faith he saw in her heart and couple it with the determination and love for her child he saw in her actions. And perhaps that's one of the reasons that Jesus sometimes says NO to our prayers--to challenge and call forth our faith, our power, our YES.

Salvation, the love of God is a gift freely offered to all. But each one must respond. Paul says in this morning's Second Reading that God's desire to save all people is irrevocable, But, the Apostle adds, the gift must be accepted--freely ratified in love by each person so blessed.

Like the Canaanite woman, we must respond in love and believe. Like Jesus, we must be willing to broaden the circle of our concern. If there's a moral to her story it's a moral about the power of faith. The faith of this Canaanite woman overcame the barrier between male and female, the barrier between Jew and Gentile, the barrier between broken- ness and wholeness. The faith of this pagan woman healed her child.

Brothers and Sisters, we preachers talk a lot about the faith that heals. But what is that faith? We say if you haven't got faith you have nothing. What is faith in God? Is it no more than an intellectual belief in a created universe? What does it mean to say Christ is Lord? Is it simply a matter of choosing to accept the Historicity of the human being known as Jesus Bar-Joseph of Nazareth? Or is there something more to this faith business?

Do you recall the time that Jesus chastised the people in his own hometown for their lack of faith in him? What do they say in response?

"Where does he get these ideas? Isn't this the carpenter's son? Isn't this Mary's boy? Isn't this James and Joseph's brother? Don't we know him and all his sisters?"

They didn't believe in him. Much less in his Divine roots and his cosmic possibilities. They though he was just like them. And not believing in him or in his roots in God, they couldn't believe in themselves, or in their roots in God. Much less in their own possibilities. So they said NO to Jesus.

They reasoned, "he's just like us, ignorant, useless, helpless and hopeless."

And of course, that reasoning made them ignorant, useless, helpless, and hopeless. That reasoning killed possibility, murdered hope in their lives. That's why they could not heal, or even be healed. Had they been able to believe in him, they would have believed in themselves.

But the Canaanite woman, a woman, a gentile, mother of a deranged child, did believe in him. She could say "YES" to Jesus. And she believed in herself. She believed that she could bridge the gap between herself and Jesus. And she believed that she could get this foreign holy man to heal her child. She prevailed. She knew that he could heal and that he would not refuse if she called upon him in the name of his mission. Yet it ended up being her faith that healed her child.

If we believed in Jesus like that, we would also believe in ourselves. If we believed in his power like that, we would also belive in our power. And we would believe in our Freedom too. And we would believe in our responsibility, and in our love, and in our hope, and in our forgiveness.

And above all we would believe in the God within. We would say YES to the One who is the Source of all these gifts. We would say YES to the imageo dei, the spark of the Divine that dwells in all of our hearts and lives.

And our lives would change. And once we'd said YES, we would be in this broken world, healing and touching, transforming and redeeming it, day and night. Amen.

Harry Belafonte - Michael Row The Boat Ashore (1962) [Digitally Remastered]

Bigotry

George Harrison-My Sweet Lord (Studio Version) Original

15 Alicia Keys and John Legend Let It Be

Curtis Mayfield & The Impressions - People Get Ready (1965)

'' Stepping Out of the Boat" given 8/13/2017

There's an old story about three men who come before the Throne of God on Judgment Day. The sky turns black. The moon turns to blood. Stars are falling from the sky. Angels circle over head. Saints cast their crowns before the Throne. The Antichrist is defeated. Eerie music blares. Strange creatures float on the clouds. Mystic lamp stands light. The pages of the book of life thunder as they seem to turn of their own accord.

Finally the Eternal Judge, the Ancient of Days, God upon the Throne turns and proceeds to judge the three men. The first is condemned to hell. Trumpets blast, lightening flashes. The man drops to his knees in sheer terror. Then the second man is likewise condemned. More lightening, more horns. He falls on his face in utter horror. Finally the third man is also condemned. Yet again the trumpets blare and the sky fills with light. But this time, the man just stands there with a stupid, lopsided grin on his face.

Everything stops. Everybody stands in surprise and silence for a moment. Then from behind him, one of the Archangels pushes through the crowd and whomps the guy upside his head with a flaming sword.

"What's the matter with you? Didn't you hear the sentence?" The angel demands.

"Yeah I did," replies the man. "but it's all just such a great show!

The point of the story is that some of us expect more spectacle from God than the rest of us. And for any of you who are like that, this morning's Gospel Reading really fits the bill. It describes a downright spooky encounter that the disciples had with Jesus on a storm-tossed Sea of Galilee.

The disciples obviously thought that God was using the storm to tell them something. Jesus' behavior no doubt looked equally significant to them. But whatever the real facts of His walking on the water were, it is clear that Jesus wasn't nearly as interested as the disciples were in whatever threatening messages God might or might not have been using the storm to send.

Obviously Our Lord was far more interested in teaching His followers about personal trust, and confidence, and discovering the spiritual resources available for the living of life on this planet. Jesus was more interested in equipping them to face the more complex, less dramatic, tougher, more prosaic storms of everyday life.

Our Lord knew very well that 99% of the time, God calls us and speaks to us without using Stephen Spielberg to do the special effects. Trust, care, believe. Those were, and are, the call of Jesus. “Come, Follow me. Come to God. And it was in that setting, buffeted by the crashing waves, that one of the disciples, Simon Peter, trusted, began the life-long process of salvation, believed, found his God, came to Christ.

Simon and his brother Andrew were professional fishermen. Along with James and John, they knew the ways of boats and storms. Line and sail, wind and wave were a part of their everyday lives. Yet that particular day, there came to Simon and the others a headwind they could not tack against, a rough sea they could not ride out.

And then, in the midst of the storm came a lull. Then, calmly coming toward them, literally walking on the waves, He came. Their rabbi, their Master, their friend, their Christ, their God--Jesus. They must have been absolutely terrified. It's clear that they had absolutely no idea of what to do, how to respond.

And then Simon Peter-- foolish, bragging, impetuous Simon acted. Simon, the guy who always managed to put his foot in it. Simon, who always blurted out the wrong thing at the wrong time. Simon, who seems at times to only be in the Gospels for comic relief, acted. This Gabby Hayes of the disciples, this not-too-bright-but-faithful sidekick came through.

This time for once, Simon Peter seemed to know exactly what to do. Our first impulse on reading the story might be to throw up our hands at the sheer chutzpah, the pushy nerve of Simon. But his bold act seems to be what Jesus expected of Peter. Going against all his life-long experience in small boats, against all his professional judgment, against common sense, Simon stood up, crawled to the rim of the boat, looked into Jesus' face, took a deep breath and with all his faith, stepped out of the boat. And he did it! Simon Peter actually walked on the water!

Sure it was only a couple of steps. Sure it was only a moment until the force of the gale drove his new-born confidence away. Sure he sunk. But for a moment there, Simon did it! This most human, most fallible of the disciples was actually able to walk on the waves! He did it.

And then, as he began to sink and his life passed before his eyes, Simon Peter called out in fear and was saved. The strong, loving hand of God reached out and caught him. Jesus lifted him up and out of the sea.

Peter the thick-headed, the one who never quite got what Jesus was driving at, had been the only one to understand Jesus' unspoken call to risk, to trust. Simon had been the only one to respond to the challenge to step out of the boat and move on to the storm-tossed seas of this world.

Buffeted by doubt, going against the so-called wisdom of this world, finding his own faith insufficient, never-the-less, Simon was saved. Not through the drama and spectacle or the storm. Not through Jesus' wondrous works and miracles.

No Simon was saved-- as most of us are-- through the quiet and subtle ways of faith. The eyes of a loved one. The still small voice within. The outstretched hand of a friend who cares. The hand of God, reaching out and grasping us in our need, lifting us up and calling us back to the struggle.

This story is in many senses a paradigm for the life of discipleship. Actually, one of the oldest symbols for Christ’s church is a tiny boat on choppy seas, buffeted by waves. Look up at our ceiling. Notice the pointed peak—like the keel of an boat. See the visible supporting beams—like the ribs of a boat. The similarities are not accidental. The architecture of many churches—including this one—consciously or unconsciously--suggests an over turned boat.

To be in the church is in many ways to be in a tiny raft, tossed about on the stormy waves of life. Jesus comes and rebukes us for our little faith and encourages us to trust in him. He stills the storm and brings us back to safety.

And yet it's not enough for us simply to sit there and hang on. We get called to climb out of the boat all the time. The church can be a crucial place of mutual support in time of emotional and spiritual trial. We can keep one another from sinking, in a very real sense. We can lift one another up. We can get through the storms of loss, or pain, or illness together. But sooner or later, like Peter, we get called to step out of the boat.

It might be an opportunity to share our faith with someone who desperately needs to hear the good news. Our call to venture out of the safety of the boat might be the opportunity no respond to someone in need, someone who as the old gospel song says is "sinking deep in sin".

It might be the call to go rescue someone who needs to be literally lifted up out of the waters of despair or addiction or loss or greed. It might simply be that same call that we hear every Monday morning, to live with integrity, and respect for others, and most of all with faith.

Maybe you know the story about the priest, the rabbi and the United Methodist minister? The minister was new in town and the other two invited him to go fishing with them. They were out on a lake in a rowboat, enjoying themselves end getting acquainted.

Suddenly the priest announced that he wanted a Pepsi. So he calmly stood up, stepped over the rail of the boat and walked over the water to the shore, where he stuck some change in a pop machine in front of a fishing lodge, got his Pepsi and walked back. The rabbi didn't blink an eye, so the minister kept his surprise to himself and didn't say anything. But he thought to himself:

"Boy, he's got faith!" A couple of minutes later, the rabbi decided that he wanted a 7-Up. So he calmly stood up, stepped out of the boat and walked on the water to the pop machine, bought his 7-Up and walked back to the boat. "Boy, he's got faith!" Thought the minister to himself.

Finally, the minister got thirsty too. He was too shy to ask one of the others to go get him a pop. And besides, he figured that a United Methodist minister ought to have as much faith as a Catholic priest or a Jewish rabbi. So he stood up, stepped over the rail and into the water, and promptly sank! Whereupon the priest turned to the rabbi and enquired,

"Do you think we should have told him about the rocks?"

Sisters and brothers, you and I get called out of the boat all the time. I've been trying to suggest this morning that being a mature Christian requires that we respond. But I also want to suggest that our faith, our trust in Christ, our experiences in the life of discipleship, our fellowship can to some extent be a matter of knowing about and telling one another about those rocks. And I also want to suggest that the faith is also a matter of being rocks for one another.

Being a Christian is however, more than simply knowing and telling one another where the rocks are. And it's more than knowing that there are folks in the boat who care enough about us to be willing to walk over and pull us out if we sink.

Being a mature Christian is also a matter of being willing to step out of the boat, when Christ calls us--regardless of where the rocks are or aren't. It's stepping out simply because He calls. It's trusting that one way or the other, Christ will be with us--assuming the call was genuine. Ultimately, it's keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus and just doing it---even if we do end up sinking.

That all means taking some pretty serious risks at times in this life. Risking ourselves to help another. Risking to reach out and minister to a needy sister or brother in circumstances that may be unfamiliar or uncomfortable. Listening--really listening to someone who's hurting-- without judging or giving unwanted advice.

Being a friend in need. Helping out with an unasked favor, a word, a prayer, even a loan we don't necessarily expect to be paid. Challenging the racist remark. Questioning those in power when they're wrong. Confronting bullies, witnessing for justice, supporting groups that work for what we believe in. Going back to school to finish that degree. admitting our wrongs, perhaps changing careers.

Taking responsibility from day one for that relationship you entered into, that child you brought into the world. Tutoring an illiterate adult, Taking a parentless child into your home. It is in sum, striving in any way that presents itself to make yourself into a better person and make this into a better, more humane, more Christian world.

Being a follower of Christ, stepping out of the boat means at times taking a unpopular, even a dangerous stand. Think of St. Francis, Martin Luther, the Wesley brothers, Dorothy Day, Dr. King, the Berrigan brothers, Cesar Chavez, Archbishop Romero martyred in El Salvador. Think of Nelson Mandella imprisoned for most of his adult life. Think of Archbishop Desmond Tutu taking up Mandella’s role and leading the fight against Apartheid in South Africa.

I remember Donna and I hearing Archbishop Tutu speak in Chicago quite a few years before Mandella’s release, telling us about the letter he got from a Roman Catholic nun in Alaska. She wrote to him that she rose every morning at 4 AM to pray for this Anglican Archbishop and his ministry for his people's freedom.

"How can the government win?" Asked this Archbishop. "A nun in Alaska is praying for me every day at 4 AM. How can anyone's guns and clubs stand against that?"

Being a Christian means at times stepping out of the boat. But the boat still remains. And the rest of us remain, praying for one another, ministering to our own particular corner of God's world, believing, trusting, willing to take the risk and walk on the rocks to fish one another if we sink. Thanks be to God.

Let us pray.

God of grace and power your Son gives us victory over life's most violent storms. Strengthen our faith as we commit ourselves to the ministry and witness of your church, to take our first tentative steps out of the boat and onto the waves, Keep us secure in our relationship with you and true to our mission in the world, Wo pray through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.

The Stars of Faith feat. Mattie Harper- "Poor Little Jesus"

Will Todd: Mass in Blue (Jazz Mass) - Kyrie (Mvt. 1)

Pescador de Hombres

"A Deserted Place" given Aug. 5, 2017

 Like all of us, Jesus sometimes needed some time for himself. Time alone. Time to rest, renew, and reflect-- time to recuperate and relax, time to pray and meditate. But apparently, such time is rare and hard to find for messiahs. There was always someone with a pressing question, or a moral dilemma or a spiritual quandry. There was always someone needing to be healed, or blessed. There was aways some wise-guy Pharisee or Saucee who has come with a puzzler that they think will set this upstart traving lay preacher back on his heels. There was always someone impatient with an issue that he or she feels simply has to addressed by Jesus, and Jesus alone. And it needs to be addressed RIGHT NOW!

In this morning's Gospel Reading, Jesus has somehow managed to slip away from the crowd—and the disciples as well. He withdraws from the crowds that cluster around him, withdraws to "a deserted place." where he assumes he can get a bit on much needed privacy. You may remember that Jesus began his ministry in the rocky Junean desert. Now, in the middle of his ministry, he seeks out another desolate place . But this place is anything but deserted. The disciples find him, and right behind them, is the very crowd he was trying to escape for a litle whle. Jesus being Jesus, has compassion on them, and begins to preach to them and heal them.

The hour grows late and the disciples (us, the church) advise, "Send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves." (You know, like there were Mickey D's in First Century Palestine.) Bit Jesus urges the disciples, “You give them something to eat.”

They reply, "We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish."

Jesus takes charge, blesses what they have, gives it, and it is enough. In fact, wonder of wonders, it is more than enough. After everyone had eaten "and were filled," there was enough left for "twelve baskets full." Over five thousand were fed. (Not counting women and children—who apparently didn't count.)

Do you sense the movement in this miraculous story? It is a movement from scarcity ("We have nothing here but..." ) to sufficency, ("And all ate and were filled..." ) to abundancce (“And there were twelve baskets of left overs.)

Behind the story of Jesus and the feeding is a question: What sort of world do we have? Are we forlorn, trapped in a desert of scarce commodities, declining resources, and dwindling goods?

Or do we live in a lush, garden of a place where there is enough for all to eat and be filled? (Curiously, when Jesus asked them to sit down in this arid, deserted place, they sat upon "the grass." Maybe another miracle happened that we missed all there years--with Jesus there, the desert blossoms.)

Much hinges on how we address that issue. The commodity in shortest supply, the story implies, is imagination--faith that Jesus is able to provide, that God does not mean for any to be sent away empty, that Jesus has already given us all that we need to share with the world all that it needs.

By the way, notice—this story--the feeding of the mulititudes is the ONLY story about Jesus found in ALL FOUR GOSPELS. Not the Nativity, not the Transfiguration, not the Passion, not the Crucifixion, not even the Resurrection is found in all the accounts of Jesus and His life and ministry.

When Jesus enters the desert, the desert breaks into bloom, there is food and plenty to share, all eat and have enough. What does that tell us about God's intent in coming amoung us in Christ Jesus? What does that tell us about what God in Jesus expects of us as Christians? What does that tell us about this world in which we live? What does that tell us about our Creator God?

If you read the Bible, particularly a story like today's Gospel, you can see there really does seem to be something about this God of ours that tends toward excess, exuberance, and extravagance.

Look at today's Reading. A huge crowd followed Jesus into the wilderness. Jesus

needed to get a breather, a vacation from all those hurting people who were pressing in on him. But that's not what he got. Even out in the desert, there were thousands of people. So Jesus healed them because he had a heart filled with compassion.

It grew late. The disciples urge Jesus to send the crowds away so that they can buy something to eat. Jesus tells the disciples “You give them something to eat!”

"Where in the world do you expect us to get enough to feed all these people? They manage to scrounge up a couple of fish and a few loaves. (A little boy's lunch, we are told elsewhere in the Gospels. ) But Jesus blesses what little they have and it is enough. Everyone eats fish sandwiches on the grass and is filled. No, even more than that, they have twelve baskets of food left over. Food just overflows everywhere. (I hope they sent the left-overs home with the little boy.)

I take this miracle as a kind of parable about Jesus. Although they were in a deserted place, the desert burst into bloom once Jesus got there. There was healing for the hurting and food for the hungry.

The disciples are us. We look at the vast needs of the world and despair. "Jesus, send them away," we plead. “Jesus, work some kind of miracle and feed them.”

Well, Jesus works a miracle all right. He asks us, "What do you have?"

We don't have much. Just a couple of fish in our basket, and a few loaves. But he urges us to take what we have and recklessly share it, give it away, throw it away on thmultitudes. “You feed them.” He says. And it is enouugh.

I think we come up in this world with a sense of scarcity. I've got to grab, hoard, accumulate, pile up, and guard. "It's mine and you can't have it," the little child so quickly learns to say.

I'm told that one reason why dogs gobbles down their food so quickly is that for the first few million years, when dogs lived in the wild, food was a rarity. When a kill was made, all the dogs gathered around the carcass and wolfed down the meat. It was important to eat fast lest another dog get the food.

So millions of years later dogs is still go on gobbling down the food, even though they're the only one there and have all the time in the world to eat.

We better not let too many Latinos into the country--they might take American jobs.

Don't give too much to the folks on welfare--it might be a drain on the economy.

Don't raise the minimum wage too much-- it might make my hamburgers cost more.

Don't spend money on Medicaid or decent schools in poor neighborhoods—it's a waste

try and help people like that.

Don't fund special ed programs—that's a rathhole. We can us that money on taxcuts

for rich people.

Don't start a PADS program in order to shelter the homeless. They'll dirty up the church.

Hold on tight to what we have. Reality is a fixed commodity. Life is a zero sum game. If I give to you, I am diminished.

How had she kept at elementary school teaching for over 30 years? Lots of folk burn out in a job like that, having nothing left to give. (Social workers, Public Defenders, Community Organizers, Investigative Reporters)--why had she not given out - given up?

"I've found that love is a renewable resource," she said. "The more you give it away, the more you get. As someone said, 'in giving you receive.'"

I've heard about someone else who said pretty much the same about giving to the church. When they asked him to say why he was one of the congregation's biggest givers, he said, "Well, I've found that the more I give, the more I get."

At first, such a statement might bother us. Is he preaching the heresy of the so-called “prosaperity gospel”? Did he mean to say that if you give money to some big-haired televangeist or mega-church, you will get more money back?

No, he said that his giving was never as much as he could give, that in giving away some of his money for God's work, he had received great joy and satisfaction in the simple act of sharing—simply following the teaching and example of Jesus.

Most of us grew up in a racially segregated America—North as well as South. African Americans had all the menial, dead-end jobs. (Many of then still do, in point of fact.).They were not allowed into the factories or textile mills to work, never given an opportunity to join a union or go tro college—much less advance into professional jobs.

"If you let the blacks in here, they will take white jobs," we were told as justification for this economic injustice.

A few years ago, an economist was showing a group the statistics on the rather remarkable economic advances in the American South. Someone of them, looking at the graphs, noted a huge jump in the poor Southern states' economies about 1968. What happened?

"The Civil Rights Movement," said the economist. "We in the South were trying to fight with one hand tied behind our backs. When black people were allowed into the economy, the economy really started to boom."

When will we learn to trust Jesus? When will we learn some of his effusive, expansive, gracious lessons? When will we stop guarding, hoarding, keeping, and clutching and show the open- handed gesture of generosity? We grow up in this world with a sense of scarcity, holding on tight. But by the grace of God, we can learn another way. We can see that all that we have, and all that we are, is but a gift of an incredibly generous God who asks of us only that we respond to our sisters and brothers in the same gracious, generous spirit.

In the days before everybody had a cell phone, a college student, home for the holidays, was talking with his father about various problems confronted by the church today: poverty, homelessness, and other social ills. As they talked, they walked down the street, heading toward a pay phone to call home to ask if they needed to bring a pizza home with them for dinner.

As fate would have it, on their way they were met by a homeless man who asked them, "Can you spare any change?"

The father reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of change, held it out to the man, and said, "Here, take what you need."

The homeless man smiled, held out his hands, and took all of the change. Then they parted.

Heading on down the street, the young man and his father realized that they had given away all of their change. They needed a quarter to make their call. Turning, they called out to the homeless man.

"We forgot that we needed to make a phone call. Can you give us back one of our quarters?"

The homeless man smiled, reached into his pocket, pulled out all of the change and said, "Here, take what you need."

Let us pray.

For summer fields full of summer flowers all ablaze with color;

For long, generous summer days with a surplus of hours for enjoyment and pleasure;

For something so wondrous as a lightening bug, a world so diverse and rich, full of purposeless, pointless, mysterious beings all there for our delight;

For your church, gathered this day to praise, to shout, to sing, to enjoy one another and great, generous, gracious you; we praise you.

We give thanks that you gave us so rich and good a summertime, that you filled the world with such wonder, that you breathed life into us and gave us a share in your divine creativity.

For all this, O Creator, we give you thanks and praise. Amen.

Samaritan

“Everybody has experienced the defeat of their lives. Nobody has a life that worked out the way they wanted it to work out. We all begin as the hero of our own dramas, in centre stage, and inevitably life moves us out of centre stage, defeats the hero, overturns the plot and the strategy and we’re left on the sidelines, wondering why we no longer have a part, or want a part, in the whole damn thing. So everybody’s experienced this. When it’s presented to us sweetly, the feeling goes from heart to heart and we feel less isolated and we feel part of the great human chain,
which is really involved with the recognition of defeat.”

~Leonard Cohen on why people enjoy listening to melancholy songs - From a BBC radio interview in 2007

(Art: Samaritan, by Lladislav Zaborsky, 1976)

MY LORD WHAT A MORNIN' • HARRY T. BURLEIGH

Move On Up A Little Higher | Mahalia Jackson

"The Tallest Shrub" given July 30

 In our Gospel Reading this morning, Jesus is still preaching on what had to be one of His favorite subjects. Our Lord is once again speaking of it in terms of a mysterious time in the future. And yet it is at the same time a spiritual state which is already being born and built in the hearts of His followers--the Commonwealth of Heaven--the New Jerusalem--the Eternal Sabbath-- God's Reign.

Jesus is fairly warmed up to His subject and is throwing parables and similes and metaphors at His listeners left and right. Indeed, at this point Jesus has told them that the Coming Realm is like so many things that some of His listeners must have wondered if even Jesus Himself could keep up with them all!

The Heavenly Realm, says Jesus, is like a pearl of great price. It is like a treasure hidden in a field. It's like a bunch of fish in a net. It is like a grain of mustard seed.

Come again, Jesus? I'm not sure I got that last one.

I said that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a grain of mustard seed. It is the smallest of seeds--but when mature, it grows to be the tallest of the shrubs.

A shrub, Jesus?

Yes, a shrub. That's what I said. It gets to be maybe four or five feet tall. A shrub so tall that even birds can perch in it's branches.

Birds, Jesus?

Okay, granted small birds. Still, it's quite impressive when stop and think about it, says Jesus.

Jesus has hooked our interest with all those nature parables about the Divine Sower and the seeds growing by the side of the road and the wheat and the weeds growing up intermingled. He builds us up with the comparison to nets full of fish and the pearl of great price and the treasure hidden in a field, and then He leaves us with the image of a shrub. I suspect that our Lord was having a good time pulling His listeners'--and our legs a bit.

The truth is, the mustard seed isn't really the smallest of seeds. But the legends of the Palestinian people always referred to it as such. It must have been an everyday saying, I suppose. As quiet as a mouse, as big as a house, as small as a grain of mustard seed.

Jesus used that saying, and pointed to a fact that they all knew very well, how large the bushes of the mustard plant can grow. It's the tallest shrub, our Lord solemnly assures us, possibly having to work hard in order to keep a straight face.

By the way, I'm pretty sure that no one actually cultivated mustard plants in ancient Paletine. Irregardless, Matthew, Mark, and Luke all repeat the parable of the mustard seed.

Luke, in his triumphalism, says the seed grows up to be a tree. Matthew and Mark are probably a lot closer to the original way Jesus told it. It's the smallest of seeds, and yet it grows to be the tallest of shrubs.

Our Lord is doing more than just having a bit of fun in His choice of sermon illustrations. If you think about it, Jesus may ve been saying something about the miracle of growth. But I think Jesus is saying something about our overly grandiose expectations of the Divine Realm as well. We're so infatuated with the big, the gaudy, the showy. We're cnstantly looking for flamboyant hvests in the church. We want flashy results and we want them now.

We're more intereste in trying to build churches with thousand member choirs and full orchestras and marble floors and pulpits carved out of cedars of Lebanon filled with people just like ourselves than we are in building nurturing communities. The institutional church is too often more willing to spend months and years at a time studying the causes of slums than it is in swinging a hammer at a single Habitat for Humanity project.

We're more interested in publishing a book on the causes of homelessness than we are in providing shelter for a single solitary bum on a cold night. The truth is, we're too often more interested in growing in numbers than we are in faithfulness. We'd rather build crystal cathedrals and TV stations than places where people can feel loved. We want to think that little itty-bitty mustard seed is going to grow up to be a mighty tree some day. But the plain fact is, there just ain't no such thing as a mustard tree.

We want impressive results. We have convinced ourselves that if anything significant is being done in God's name, it has to be big. Jesus calls us in this parable to think small as well. Tiny seeds. Unimpressive shrubs.

Maybe our Lord is impressed when a big-time evangelist gets to spend the night at the White House. But this parable suggests that He's more likely to be impressed by the native American lay pastor living in an unheated trailer in South Dakota who has never seen the White House, much less talked to the President because she's been too busy preaching and visiting shut-ins for the past thirty years at a little mission church at a remote cross-roads in the middle of a Reservation.

Maybe Jesus is impressed by a rich suburban congregation of several thousand members with a huge full-time staff and an enormous budget that gets spent on programming for all ages.But the parable suggests that Our Redeemer is more impressed with a small town church with a limited program, trying to make budget, that is never-the-less strugling to pay their apportionments, striving to be in mission, and keep their doors open, and looking for ways to minister to those in need in their community.

The church of Jesus Christ is not in trouble when the world criticizes her as small and ineffective. Christ's Coming Realm is not imperiled by society's indifference to it as insignificant. The church is however, in trouble--deep, deep trouble--when she tries to measure her success by the standards of this world. Christ's Kingdom is imperiled when the church allows herself to be judged by the world on the basis of wealth and power and influence.

We are not called by Jesus to be a tree in the middle of the town square. We're being called to be a healthy little bush by the side of the road. We're not called to take over the world. We're called to be an example to the world. We're called to be light, and salt, and leaven, and above all, to make a witness.

Some might say that's false justification. Some might accuse me of trying to make a virtue out of what is now our present reality. Some would claim that I'm in effect copping out and saying "we never really wanted to be a tree anyway". But I'm not so sure.

The current shrinking status of the mainline denominations may well be an opportunity for fidelity rather than a sign of failure. Fidelity to the Gospel is, after all a gift from God, not a result of what we as believers and as a church do or fail to do.

We North American Christians have been flogging ourselves a lot over statistics during the past seven or eight decades. Maybe we need to start seeing our coming place in society as a gift, rather than a failure. Maybe we need to regard our current membership and political declines as opportunity rather than curse. Perhaps our situation is even providential, since it just may allow us to recapture that "loyal opposition", "in-the-world-but- not-of-it", minority status that is intrinsic and necessary to being in true witness and mission.

Maybe we need the humbling knowledge that we are not at the center of the world, not even at the center of our beloved faith. Perhaps the church of Jesus Christ needs the vitality and energy and integrity of leadership that poor and third-world peoples can bring to her in the current millennium.

If History teaches us anything, it ought to teach us that the world being what it is, whenever the church has been faithful, the world has always characterized her as being small and insignificant. The truth is that whenever the church has tried to be a mighty tree in the world, we have lost our soul. Every time we have danced to the tune of power and prestige and sheer size, we have ended up burning heretics and LGBT folk at the stake, blessing wars, fighting crusade, torturing and massacring Jews and other so called "unbelievers", and generally sold our birthright to the powers and principalities of this world for a lousy envelope or two of Mrs. Grass' instant cream of pottage soup.

Most of you can doubtless recall a time in your lives when the mainline churches in North America were large and powerful and influential. You can recall times when people were practically pounding at the doors to get in. Maybe you look upon those years, when budgets were easy to meet, and sanctuaries easy to fill, with nostalgia. Some of you, I'm sure have been to some of those big, right-wing mega-churches and thought to yourself, "Gee, it's too bad that we can't bottle what they have here and bring it back to here to Lindenhurst."

But the fact is, that the energy and enthusiasm and encouragement that you and I require in our ministry here in this place where God has planted us, can't be found in a bottle.

It can be found in your hearts—and mine.

And perhaps we shouldn't always be looking for encouragement and growth in slick plans, or in neat new programs with cute graphics, or in trying to utilize high-pressure salesmanship tactics instead of simple acts of caring, honest sharing of our faith, and a courteous invitation to a neighbor.

Certainly there's room for a rebirth of enthusiasm in the Gospel in our churches. Certainly we need a renaissance of hope and unity and direction in our denomination. But these things can only come if we remain true to ourselves and true to our understanding of the Gospel message.

The mustard seed reminds us that the ultimate basis for our encouragement in the faith, the heart of our hope lies in recognizing that, although the beginnings may be small, and the results can seem to be comparatively insignificant at times, so long as we have been faithful, there will be a Harvest. Thank God, it's not up to us. We are simply called to sow and believe.

It is the Lord of the Harvest who gives the growth. And though it will not necessarily be the growth that we expect, never-the-less it will be growth. There will be a harvest, even though it may not necessarily occur at the times, or places, or in the mode we have planned. And though it may well be a shrub instead of a tree, Jesus says that it will at least be the tallest of the shrubs. And that's, after all, a miracle.

The harvest will, never-the-less, come. Amen.