Over the past eight months, I have learned a lot about the people of Immanuel UMC. I had heard you were friendly and welcoming, hospitable and that this was a caring church, but those are really just words until you see them lived out in people’s lives. And having a fresh set of eyes – an outsiders eyes – I want to share just a few things I’ve learned. I’ve learned that you are quick to show up at the bedside of a friend and have often have visited before either of us pastors hear someone is in the hospital or is sick. I’ve discovered the joy filled welcome that so many greeters offer to those who walk in the doors on Sunday mornings. I see the care that is taken to make this a hospitable and welcoming place – from the pots of coffee that are prepared to the flexibility to adapt and use this space differently, like you did with the nursery and library moves. On the sign outside our building, it says “All Welcome!” and you really want everyone to feel welcome here. But I must share that I also come as an outsider that looks and talks a whole lot like many of you do here in the church…. And on the surface, whether we intend for it to or not, that is itself a barrier for people who may not look or speak like the majority of those in this room. Being a part of this church, I can now see and name the multitude of ways we are diverse. We have a wide range of ages – from four week old babies to 104 year olds! We are people who are wealthy and who are struggling financially. We are healthy and we are in need of healing. Some of us have been educated by the streets and some of us have taught in universities. We vote republican and we vote democrat. And perhaps the most striking dichotomy of all: Some of us are Hawkeyes and some of us are Cyclones and some of us are Panthers and some of us don’t fit into any of those categories, but we still somehow are able to worship together 😉 We have made room in this place for all of this difference. God is good! Yet, there are still people missing from our midst. There are still people in this neighborhood and in this larger community who do not know that they would be welcome here. Even inside this caring, loving community, there are still people who feel like they simply don’t quite belong. Our sign outside might say, “All Welcome…” but do we truly live that out with every fiber of our being? In our gospel reading for this morning, the question of who belongs is lifted up. One afternoon, Jesus is hanging out with some of his disciples… who were all Jewish, both ethnically and religiously. In other words, they would have looked and talked the same. Philip and Andrew were out and about in the community when they encountered some Greeks who were in town for the festival. And these Greeks approached the pair and asked if they might see Jesus. What is interesting is that these are the same words that were used when Philip and Andrew first met Jesus… He asked them to “come and see.” So, these Greeks want to do more than just meet Jesus – they want to become followers OF Jesus. I can imagine Philip and Andrew turned to each other and started whispering. “They want to see Jesus?” “But they are Greek!” “Um…. Let’s go ask first…” What was the big deal? First of all, in the gospel of John, the disciples understood themselves to be part of a Jewish movement. They were traveling the countryside, preaching good news to the poor, but most of those people looked remarkably like them. Yes, there had been that one encounter with a Samaritan woman, but for the most part, this was a Jewish movement for Jewish people. This is only the second time in John’s gospel that Jesus encounters gentiles, people outside the Jewish community. Second, I have always found the disciples to be a bit thick. It takes them a little longer to catch on than we would like. They tried to keep the children from Jesus, but he welcomed them. They watched as he embraced sinners and prostitutes and outcasts. Yes, the ethnicity of these Greeks set them apart from Jesus’ disciples. At a minimum, their accents would have distinguished them. But maybe they dressed different and had a lighter hair and fairer skin. But Jesus had shown again and again that all sorts of people were welcome. Can you picture it? They walk up to Jesus, with the Greeks standing not too far behind them and they ask: “Hey Jesus, do you want to see those people, or should we send them away?” We want Jesus to answer with something like –“ Sure! Have them come over!” or “You guys just don’t get it… of COURSE I want to see them.” But he doesn’t. Jesus instead, for all to hear, starts talking about how you have to die to bear fruit. That he is going to give up his life and anyone who wants to follow him must give up theirs as well. When we think of it in the context of this diversity, Jesus’ words make a bit more sense. Standing before him are Andrew and Philip, the first Jewish disciples… and behind them are those who might become the first Greek disciples. Will they be able to get along? Will they be able to set aside their differences to follow him? Or will their pasts get in the way of the future God has planned for our salvation? This parable of sorts that Jesus offers is all about their identity. They can cling to their heritage and their labels, but if they do so they will always remain strangers. They will remain in their differences and never be lifted up with Christ. But if they let go of their worldly identity… their distinctions as Jews and Greeks… then they will come to know true life in the community of Jesus Christ. Jesus is asking them, and us, to declare our allegiance. Jesus invites us to let go of our labels – Jew or Greek, male or female, young or old and to take on a new identity as the servant of Christ… to identify ourselves not by any characteristic of this world, but to claim our identity in Jesus’ death and resurrection. I am white. I am a female. I am American. I am United Methodist. But first and foremost and more important than any of those other labels, I am a disciple of Jesus Christ. And the question raised by this parable is what kind of sacrifices do we need to make… what do we need to risk… in order for the world to know that is the core of our identity? Whether we want it to or not, all of those other identifying characteristics can get in the way of the world knowing the love of God in Jesus Christ. The color of our skin can be a barrier. The way we talk can be a barrier. Our nationality can be a barrier. And if we want others to see Jesus in us… If we want others to know and follow him who died to save us all… then it is up to us to cross whatever barriers might exist and be present with people where they are. Recently, Samsung put together an ad that describes the kind of hospitality and love that helps someone who feels like they are on the outside experience what it might like to be in. Muhareem is deaf and his primary language is sign language. Yet as he encounters neighbors and strangers in the world, they don’t speak his language. But what if they did? What if a whole neighborhood decided to cross a barrier and meet Muhareem where he is? What sacrifices can we make? What risks can we take? What barriers can we cross to help others see Jesus? God loves all sorts of people who live outside of these four walls. Single dads. Drug addicts. The homebound elderly. Children who are competing for first place in a contest. Folks who partied too much last night. So the question I leave us with today is what might Jesus be asking us to do to cross a barrier and share the love of Christ with them today? What might we, as a church, let go of, so that the world might know Jesus?
Posts Tagged with welcome
Recklessly Lavish, Wastefully Abundant
This past Sunday, I stepped into the pulpit at Immanuel UMC for my first morning as their new pastor.
I had actually been in the pulpit before.
Working with Imagine No Malaria, this had been one of many churches I had visited over the past year and a half.
There was something very different, however, about standing there at the front, being welcomed as a new leader within the church.
My topic for the morning was straight from the lectionary – the parable of the farmer who scatters seed all over the place – even in places where it probably will never grow.
I flipped the narrative on its head a little bit and instead focused on what God is up to in this text. Last year, I heard Rev. Maidstone Mulenga from the Baltimore-Washington Annual Conference preach on this text and he used a surprising word to describe our God: “prodigal.” Prodigal as in recklessly lavish, wastefully abundant, over-the-top, out of control.
To audible gasps, I tossed sunflower seeds around all over the front of the chancel area to show just how shocking this parable would have been… scattered in places where it never would grow…. (I got permission from our maintenance staff first! It was fun to watch them sit back and laugh as folks wondered how they would respond!)
That is how the farmer was with the seed… and that is how God spreads seeds of love and grace and mercy in our lives. Recklessly wasteful, lavishly abundant.
What I didn’t anticipate however, was the radical and abundant welcome from this church. From my first morning in the office when I was warmly welcomed by staff and the SPRC, to meals together, to flowers left on my desk, to the countless cards and gift cards given to us by the church family… it was all so much. It was prodigal. It was wonderful.
God works in strange ways like that… surprising us in unexpected places, giving us just the encouragement and confidence we need to face a new challenge, and never letting our limitations (be they weeds or rocks or a hard worn path) limit the power of God’s grace.
Making Room
Funeral Meditation based on Luke 2:1-7
As Christmas approaches, we are reminded that a very pregnant young woman and her patient fiancé were once left out in the cold. They made their way to the town ofBethlehemhoping and praying that someone would have a place for them to stay… but there was no room.
As Luke tells us:
Joseph went to be enrolled together with Mary, who was promised to him in marriage and who was pregnant. While they were there, the time came for Mary to have her baby. She gave birth to her firstborn son, wrapped him snugly, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the guestroom.
There was no place for them in the guestroom.
Notice… it doesn’t say that they were full. It doesn’t say that there wasn’t room. It says that there was no place for them.
Your mother and grandmother was someone who always had a place in her heart for others. She took great care to make sure that everything was just right for people and that they knew how loved they were.
Wilma was born in 1925 here in Marengo to John and Carrie Ehrman, she graduated from the Marengo High School. She worked in the office of Byron Goldthwaite and also as a Deputy Clergy for the county… but you know best that her true love and her true vocation was to be a homemaker. She greatly enjoyed cooking for her family and you enjoyed eating her fried chicken and other wonderful meals. She made many of her own clothes with her skills as a seamstress… and some for you too, although Jean, you would have preferred to wear the store bought clothes =) She kept an exceptionally clean house and cared about the details. And she did it all for you.
She made a place for each of you in her lives and made sure that you were taken care of and that you were loved. She made a place for you.
Luke reminds us as we approach Christmas that the Lord of Lords crept into this world on a quiet evening and that there was no place for him. There was no place for his unmarried mother. There was no place for the man who would be his earthly father. There was no place.
I hear in that statement that there was no welcome for them.
Who wants to take in a pregnant girl in the middle of the night?
Who wants to deal with these strangers who didn’t have enough sense to plan ahead?
Who wants to give up their spot?
In some Mexican and Latin American communities, the tradition of Las Posadas reminds folks of the absence of hospitality Mary and Joseph recieved. In the days before Christmas, processions go from house to house and request lodging. The host for each evening turns the people away… until the final night, Christmas Eve, when Mary and Joseph are finally allowed to enter and the people gather around the nativity to pray.
So many times in our actions, we too, can tell other people: There is no place for you here.
But I imagine your mother and your grandmother would have loved being the host for the last night of LasPosadas… That she would have opened up her home and said – yes, there is a place for you. I will make room.
The God that your mother and grandmother believed in, crept into this world to make sure that we all had a place. He came as a child to make us children of God. He came and was rejected so that we might never be rejected again. He died so that we might live.
Before he died, Christ reminded his disciples and reminded us:
Don’t be troubled. Trust in God. Trust also in me. My Father’s house has room to spare. If that weren’t the case, would I have told you that I’m going to prepare a place for you? When I go to prepare a place for you, I will return and take you to be with me so that where I am you will be too.
There is a place for you. That is what Christ tells us. That is what Christ shows us. That is what Christ gives us.
Wilma knew that her job was to make a place for you in this world. May you let her life and her memory live on by carrying in your hearts the desire to serve others… to love others… more than yourself.
Amen. And Amen.
Who is Missing
Last week while on vacation, I got to spend a lot of time with my neice and nephew. My neice is three and my nephew is almost seven years old. And whenever you spend so much time around little ones, you are guaranteed to hear the cutests and darndest things.
As we began to make our long journey back home, our car pulled out onto the highway right behind a logging truck with eight foot, freshly cut logs piled high in the back.
We pointed out the logs to my neice, who immediately wanted to know why the trees broke. We tried to explain that they had been cut down, but her only response was, “tell me the truth, guys!”
We went on to share how those tress would be made into things like toothpicks and tables and paper, but after every explanation, every description that seemed completely logical to our adult minds, she looked at us, with a face of pure unbelieve and shouted back, “That’s not true! Tell me the truth, guys!”
Her little mind hasn’t yet formed the connections between a tree growing in the forest and the paper she colors on every day. The ability for one thing to become another isn’t a concept she can comprehend yet. And so she thought we were all lying to her. Me, her huncle, her father, all of us. And it only got worse the more we laughed and smiled – not because we were fibbing, but because of how adorable she was.
My neice didn’t believe us because she couldn’t yet, but there are times in our lives when we have something deeply true and important to share and when no one believes us it can be very painful and frustrating. As we explore both of our scritpures this morning, we fill find both those who don’t believe and also the longing to include them on this journey of faith.
In Paul’s letter to the Romans this is more obvious. He writes to his fellow Israelites – those who have grown up reading the same scriptures – who understand the same prophecies – to those whom God has chosen – and Paul is in anguish over the fact that his brothers and sisters of Israel don’t believe him. No matter how many times he shares his store, they don’t believe Jesus is the Messiah they have been waiting for. But still, Paul never gives up and keeps writing to them, trying to share what he has found. And he keeps praying and rusting in God’s promises to Israel, to us all.
In our gospel lesson this morning, the unbelieving ones anre a bit harder to find. When Jesus needs some time away – som rest and a space to grieve the death of his friend, John the Baptist, he tries to leave quietly in the morning. But the crowds of followers watch his every move and they all gather together at his destination before he even arrives.
Now – having just been on vacation, I can assure you – as much as I love all of you – if you had journeyed up to Northern Wisconsin and were waiting beside my cabin when I pulled up last week – I might have been pretty upset. I probably would have ordered you all back hom, or I might have hopped back in the car and tried to find a better hiding place.
In any case – I don’t know that I could have mustered up the compassion that Jesus had for all of those men, women and children who had journeyed out to that deserted place to be with him.
So moved was Jesus that he spent all day moving among the crowds and healing those who were sick. He set aside his own plans for the day, his own need to grieve, and he ministered to their needs.
After hours upon hours of these acts of sacrifice, mercy, and compassion, his tired disciples come up to Jesus and begged him to send everybody home.
“There is no food here,” they cried.
“It’s hours past supper time”
“My blood sugar is running low,” they chimed in.
“My tummy is rumbling.”
“Send everyone back to the towns so that they – and we – can get some food!”
I can just picture the mischevious, knowing smile that comes across Jesus’ face as he responds, “No need to send them away – you give them something to eat!”
Because, you see, Jesus already knows the disciples are thinking about scaricty – about how little they have -the few loaves of bread and fishes they brought with them that morning for a meager lunch they didn’t have time to eat. And Jesus knew that what sometimes looks tiny and insignificant can be full of life and life abundant.
So in front of all of those people, all of those faithful crowds who followed Christ into the wilderness, he took the bread of his disciples, blessed the bread and broke it, then gave it to his closest followers so that they could serve the many.
All of those who gathered to see Jesus – to hear him speak and maybe ever tho be healed – got so much more than they were bargaining for that day. They didn’t just catch a glimpse of Christ and spend some time at his feet… they caught a glimpse of the last supper. They got a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. They witnessed a radical outpouring of life and generosity and abundance like hadn’t been seen since the days of the prophets or since Israel journeyed in the wilderness and the people were fed by manna from heaven.
All who were gathered there ate and were filled. Filled with life, filled with hope, filled with the love of Christ, who shared himself with them in the breaking of the bread.
Now all of that is well and good, but like Paul Harvey – I want to know “the rest of the story.” You see, in the “rest of the story” my mind sees unbelieers. In the rest of the story, I feel my heart breaking like Paul’s because I think about all of those people who didn’t show up, who stayed home to mow the lawn, who didn’t think they were worthy or welcome, who were too sick to come.
I think about all of those people today who don’t believe God is real, who can’t understand that God loves them and who live their lives empty of that reality. I think about them and I understand Paul’s frustration.
And you know what, I re-live that feeling each month when we gather around this communion table. I re-live that pain and longing because I know that there is enough here:
enough bread and enough juice
enough love and enough grace
for all to come and be filled.
There is more than enough here, and yet there are many who won’t taste this meal today.
Maybe they are family members who are too busy for church. Maybe they are co-workers that you have never thought to invite. Maybe it’s the person down the street who lives along and longs for a place to belong… but who doesn’t know we exist.
Each time we gather around the communion table, I have asked you to look around and notice who is not with us. It is not a typical part of the litany – but something that one of my pastor’s shared with me that really rocked my world.
Before that, the communion table was about my own personal relationship with God – it was a private act done in a public place. But then, I realiced that this is a table set not just for me, or even just for those in this room, but this is a table set for all. Everyone is welcome here. Everyone will be fed here – if only they are able to gather around the table.
I want us to take a few minutes this morning to think about “who is missing” more seriously. Who in your life, who in this community, is NOT gathered with us or other people of faith around the table?
Here are some slips of paper and I want to invite you to prayerfully write down the name of someone you know, someone you want to invite to join us on this journey. I also ask you to include your name, so that together you and I can reach out to that person or family. When we take the offering after the message, place those names in the offering plate.
My prayer is that when we gather agian around this table next month, that some of those people for whom our hearts break might be able to share in this amazing feast with us.
Over the next few weks we will explore ways to share the love we have experienced with each of these people. Some may simply come and are eager for the invitation. But we might find that there are others to which we have to go – to take the church to them – to gather around other tables in other places. But let us remember that Paul never gave up on his message – and while people may not believe us or won’t come at first, God does and through his power others will too.