“The Power of Story”

Acts 11:1-18

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

5/19/19

         Before we read the text from Acts 11, let’s look back one chapter. In Acts 10, Peter climbs up on a rooftop to pray, and he has a vision. He sees a sheet lowered from heaven, and it’s full of animals that the Hebrew scriptures explicitly label unclean. A voice says, “Get up Peter, kill and eat.” Faithful to his Jewish heritage, Peter interprets the vision as a temptation, not an invitation, so he refuses. This happens two more times, and each time ends with the same pronouncement: “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

         Peter soon learns that he received this vision as preparation to receive Cornelius, an uncircumcised Gentile, as a full member of the Church. And during Peter’s and Cornelius’ first meeting, the Holy Spirit descends on Cornelius and his family, and they begin praising God.

Peter and the small group of circumcised brothers who are with him are thunderstruck. Having been taught – as a matter of identity and security – to separate themselves from Gentiles, they never expected to welcome such people into the family of faith. But neither could they deny what they were seeing and hearing.

         In what was, at the time, an unthinkably radical move, Peter, without hesitation, says to his colleagues, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” (Acts 10:47)

         With that story in mind, let’s read Acts 11.

Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. ²So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, ³saying, “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?”

⁴Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, ⁵“I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. ⁶As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. ⁷I also heard a voice saying to me, ‘Get up, Peter; kill and eat.’ ⁸But I replied, ‘By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.’ ⁹But a second time the voice answered from heaven, ‘What God has made clean, you must not call profane.’ ¹⁰This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven.

¹¹At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. ¹²The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man’s house. ¹³He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; ¹⁴he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.’

¹⁵And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. ¹⁶And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ ¹⁷If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?”

¹⁸When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.” (NRSV)

         Did any of that sound familiar? In back-to-back chapters, Luke tells the exact same story. In chapter 10, Luke narrates Peter’s story as it happens. In chapter 11, Peter retells his story to the church council, the circumcised believersin Jerusalem.

         There are at least a couple of things in play here. For one, biblical literature often uses repetition as a means to emphasize the theological significance of a teaching or an event.¹Luke is making it clear that Peter’s vision of a welcoming and inclusive church is essential to a faithful and a spiritually healthy understanding of God.

         The ancient kosher laws did important work. They helped to set the Hebrews apart as a kind of anomaly – a monotheistic culture in a polytheistic world. And Israel’s God got deeply involved in all aspects of Hebrew life – so much so that people were told what kind of animals they could and couldn’t eat, what kind of animals they could and couldn’t use in sacrifices, what kind of fabrics they could and couldn’t wear, and, of course, what kind of people they could and couldn’t welcome and associate with.

         While the ancient Hebrews lived as an anomaly, there’s a foreshadowing anomaly in the law, as well. In the midst of all those restrictive laws, that included casting suspicion over all non-Hebrews, God gives specific instruction on dealing with “aliens,” people who cross territorial borders and enter Israelite domain. “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” (Lev. 19:33-34) Scripture repeatedly bears witness to God’s expectation that the faith community show hospitality to people from other lands and cultures.

         Peter and his fellowcircumcised believerslive in the midst of a growing tension between the laws that set them apart as Jews, and the call to welcome everyone. That tension is growing because the life and teachings of Jesus have made clear that whatever can be achieved through hospitality takes precedent over whatever might be gained by protectionism. One major difference between true and false religion is that true religion offers compassion to those who get labeled otherand treated with suspicion and contempt. False religion tries only to keep itself safe. This lesson had to be learned through repetition – thus the repeated stories of the Pharisees learning it, the disciples learning it, Saul learning it, Ananias learning it, Peter learning it, the circumcised believerslearning it. And now, their stories are teaching us.

         That brings us to the second thing in play. As we acknowledged, in chapter 11, Peter tells his personal story, his testimony, to the church council. He shares with his colleagues a transforming experience that called him to break with the legalistic practices of their tradition and accept uncircumcised Gentiles as brothers and sisters in Christ. “Who was I that I could hinder God?” he says. By implication, he’s saying to the entire faith community – then and now – Who are we that we can hinder God?Peter unambiguously summons others to follow him in opening wide the doors of the church – as wide as the arms of Jesus were opened on the cross.

         Those who oppose Peter have plenty of scripture to back up arguments against his reformist policy. But Peter doesn’t argue some new doctrine. He tells them a story. Just like Jesus did. Repeatedly. He shares a purely subjective experience as a way to explain his actions and to call his brothers and sisters to a resurrection posture toward the creation.

         One commentator on this passage says, “Stories, not arguments, change lives…Generally,” he says, “arguments [and debates] tend only to crystalize differences…to keep two sides apart…[creating] winners and losers.”²Isn’t that the way so much of our culture is dealing with differences now – one “side” trying to beat down people on the other “side,” and not only with arguments but with insults? Stories work differently. They have the power to move us toward rather than away from each other.

         I really struggled at this juncture in the sermon. What direction should I take? What kind of illustration would work the best? But there’s just too much going on: immigration, race, climate change, abortion, gun violence, hunger, defense spending. You name it, and our culture is saturated with opponents warring with each other in win-or-lose battles. And on the whole, it seems that most of us are weary of all the reminders about all the things that cause friction and division. So, in spite of the fact that today’s text invites an illustration of the power of storytelling, I’m simply going to challenge us, once again, to listen more carefully and compassionately to each other.

         I will say this: the issues – immigration, race, climate change, abortion, gun violence, hunger, defense spending – may be classified as political because elected officials create policies about such things, but for followers of Jesus, they are, at heart, theological/spiritual issues. How we interact with each other as human beings, and how we grapple with our differences as we interact, has everything to do with how we understand God and how we embody Jesus.

         Telling our stories honestly, and listening respectfully to others tell theirs, lays the foundation for all the conversations and decisions that follow. Wherever you think you stand on whatever spectrum, if you speak and listen in love, you will be opened further than you expected – maybe further than you wanted. You may or may not change your mind on an issue, but you will have a new perspective. Whatever the case, through that process, you will find yourself closer to God because you will find yourself closer to your neighbor.

¹Robert W. Wall in his article Exegetical Perspectivein Feasting on the Word, Year C/Vol. 2. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Eds. Westminster/John Knox Press, Louisville, KY, 2009. P. 451.

²Ibid. But from Stephen D. Jones’ article Homiletical Perspective. P. 453.

“The Art of Faith”

John 10:22-30

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

5/12/19

²²At that time the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, ²³and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon.

²⁴So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

²⁵Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; ²⁶but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. ²⁷My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. ²⁸I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. ²⁹What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. ³⁰The Father and I are one.”(NRSV)

         “On Christ the solid rock I stand.” So goes the old hymn.

         If only it were that easy.

         Has trying to affirm not just the love, power, and justice of God, but the very existence of any kind of Creator ever felt like standing on thin ice? For those of us who have felt that way, maybe it’s because we want from faith in God things that neither faith nor God offer. Then again, maybe the deeper troubles come if we never struggle with faith.

         The men who approach Jesus in the temple during the Feast of Dedication are devoted Jewish leaders. They know the Torah backward and forward. They practice and teach their faith. They do look for the Messiah, but do they really hope that Jesus is the Messiah? Or do they want to silence another messianic wannabe? Posers were a dime-a-dozen in that oppressed culture. Whatever the case, the one for whom they wait stands in their midst, and they fail to recognize him. Maybe it’s because they expect only what they want and want only what they expect.

         Demanding certainty, these institutional leaders approach Jesus and say, in effect, If you want us to believe that you’re the Messiah, make us believe.

         And Jesus says, To this point, I’ve done all I can to show you. But you still don’t believe because you don’t really know what you’re looking or listening for.

         Regardless of faith tradition, religious leaders who connect more with institutions and narrowly-focused doctrine than the wonder of the Spirit tend to suffer from a blinding and deafening lack of awareness and imagination. They want faith to be a science, but faith is an art.

         Faith sees beauty in the midst of the world’s brutality and decay.

         Faith hears the still small voice of God in the midst of life’s uproar and chaos.

         Faith hopes in the midst of despair.

         Faith trusts what doesn’t even appear to be believable because faith interprets particular human experiences as dynamic relationship with something that defies proof.

         As an art, faith is always open and creative, always in motion, always becoming. Faith makes us artists-in-residence in our communities, participants in God’s ongoing creation and re-creation of the world.

         When asked about her faith and her work, Mother Teresa once said, “I am a just a pencil in the hand of God.” And when reading the poetry of her life, we hear the Shepherd’s voice. We see his presence – and all this in a woman who struggled constantly with moments when her faith faltered on thin ice.

         One of the compelling things about art is that the more we practice a craft, the more we begin to see new things in our own work. And through faith, we can recognize a greater hand at work in our own hands, a bigger heart beating in our own hearts. Had Mother Teresa not poured herself into her work day after day, she might have completely lost connection with God. Perhaps it’s fair to say that her work savedher, and not by earning God’s favor. By remaining in relationship with those in need at her doorstep, she remained in relationship, even if tentatively so, with the one who often seemed so far away.

         Jesus understood and taught that same artful awareness. Embracing his oneness with the Father, he recognized and declared that his work was the Father’s work. Being of one creative mind, they fashioned new possibility and new direction in the Creation. Openness to Jesus’ art allowed Zacchaeus to discover gratitude and generosity, and Saul to discover wholeness and vocation, like Michelangelo discovering David in a chunk of marble. But when the critics asked the artist to explain his work, Jesus said, Well, step back and look at it for yourselves. What do you see? What does my work say to you?

         Even now, Jesus invites us to decide for ourselves what we see, because naming what we see in him is part of discovering and practicing our own holy art and enjoying the blessings of our practice.

         The Monday night book group just finished reading A New Harmonyby John Philip Newell. At the very end of the last chapter Newell talks about the transforming power of finding the object or objects of our love. To discover those people, places, circumstances, or visions for which we are willing to pour ourselves out in love is to experience salvation.¹Using Nelson Mandela as an example, Newell says that “many will say that Nelson Mandela saved South Africa. But…Mandela would be the first to say that South Africa saved him. In the people of South Africa he found the object of his love, and in giving himself for them he found his true stature of soul.”²

         Though a lifelong member of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa, Mandela’s faith was never as conspicuous as that of, say, his colleague Desmond Tutu. Nonetheless, Mandela established the Truth and Reconciliation Commission to help heal a nation torn apart by decades of racially-motivated abuse under apartheid rule.³As such, that commission was a thoroughly Spirit-inspired, faith-based, creative effort to bring peace and wholeness to individuals, communities, and an entire nation. And as its leaders, Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, and others placed themselves in positions of deep humility under the guidance of God’s infinitely resilient love.

         As always, love is the key. Love is the multi-tool of grace. Love is like a brush to the painter, a pen to the writer, clay to the potter, an instrument to the musician, empathy to the actor, and an oven to the cook. Being one with the Father, Jesus shared God’s absolute love for all Creation. And he poured himself out, unstoppably, “even [unto] death,” (Phil. 2:8) to declare his love for all people and all things.

         When we find and name the object of our love, and offer our love for the well-being of the Creation, through means consistent with the example of Jesus, we creatively engage our oneness with Christ. And Jesus’ voice speaks through us, just as we have heard and seen it through the self-giving love of others.

         “If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

         My life is as plain as it gets, says Jesus. Watch and listen.

         If you experience faith as thin ice, seek the object of your love. Seek someone or something to which to give yourself, some reason to pour yourself out in compassionate, non-violent love, and watch what happens. Thatis your art. Draw it. Write it. Build it. Plant it. Grow it. Sculpt it. Knead it. Bake it. Knit it. Dance it. Sew it. Sing it. Organize it.

         Philip Newell uses the phrase “abandon ourselves to love.”⁴To “abandon ourselves to love” is to discover our true and deepest voice, the voice which is an echo of the voice of God. To love is to know oneness with God – and thus to know salvation.

         When we share ourselves in agape love, everyone and everything wins.

¹A New Harmony: The Spirit, the Earth, and the Human Soul, John Philip Newell. Jossey-Bass, 2011. Pp. 168

²Ibid., 168-169

³https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nelson_Mandela

⁴Newell, p. 156.

“The Question of Authority”

Acts 9:1-19a

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

5/5/19

 

Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest ²and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem.

³Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him.

⁴He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

⁵He asked, “Who are you, Lord?”

The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. ⁶But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.”

⁷The men who were traveling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. ⁸Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. ⁹For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.

¹⁰Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.”

He answered, “Here I am, Lord.”

¹¹The Lord said to him, “Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, ¹²and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.”

¹³But Ananias answered, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; ¹⁴and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.”

¹⁵But the Lord said to him, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; ¹⁶I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.”

¹⁷So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” ¹⁸And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, ¹⁹and after taking some food, he regained his strength. (NRSV)

 

          In a Washington Post article on the April 28 shooting at the Chabad of Poway Synagogue, the writer opens with these two sentences: “Before he allegedly walked into a synagogue in Poway, Calif., and opened fire, John Earnest appears to have written a seven-page letter spelling out his core beliefs: that Jewish people, guilty in his view of faults ranging from killing Jesus to controlling the media, deserved to die. That his intention to kill Jews would glorify God.”¹

         In his diatribe, Mr. Earnest “also spoke of biblical justification and of Christian belief throughout the document.”²

         John Earnest, a 19-year-old, active Presbyterian, son of an elder, heard and internalized something in his spiritual upbringing that convinced him that his religion authorized him to single out members of another religion and persecute them. It’s no real consolation to me that Mr. Earnest is not a member of the Presbyterian Church (USA) but of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, an evangelical denomination founded in 1936 in reaction to what they call “the infiltration of theological liberalism”³in the PC(USA).

         I appreciate John Earnest’s pastor, the Rev. Mika Edmonson, stepping up and taking some ownership. “We can’t pretend as though we didn’t have some responsibility for him,” he says. “[H]e was radicalized into white nationalism from within the very midst of our church.”⁴

         How does that even happen? What made Saul, who read the exact same scriptures that Jesus read, and John Earnest, who read the exact same scriptures that people like Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr. read, decide to persecute people as an act of devotion to God?

         Why do we do the things we do? What motivates us to make decisions and take actions?

         When feeling anxious and offended by Jesus, the chief priests, scribes, and elders challenged the charismatic rabbi by saying, “Tell us, by what authority are you doing these things?” (Luke 20:2)

         It’s a question of authority, isn’t it?

         Saul seeks his authority from the religious hierarchy. He asks for written permission to track down and torment Jesus-followers. When he has the authority from his “superiors,” he hunts, tortures, and kills efficiently. John Earnest followed a similar, but much more dangerous authority. And as with Saul, it was an authority not entirely of his own making. Somewhere in the Christian teaching he received, he detected a mandate, an inner, biblically-justified authority to take a gun into a place of worship and kill people who were different from him. According to the Rev. Duke Kwon, a Presbyterian Church in America pastor in Washington, D.C., Earnest’s activating precepts included “a frighteningly clear articulation of Christian theology…He has, in some ways, been well taught in the church.”⁵

         I have to say something for the record: Whether directed toward people of different skin colors, nationalities, religious traditions (or lack thereof), genders, sexual orientations, political parties, or anything else, hate-based actions, and hate itself, are categorically antithetical to the gospel of Jesus Christ. And while white nationalism is hardly the only source of hate violence in our nation, it’s one of the deadliest right now, and it all-too-often associates itself with the Christian faith – albeit some hideous perversion of it.

         Hate causes a moral blindness which presents as a subjective authority for people to intimidate minorities, or shoot worshipers, or drive vehicles into crowds. As such, white nationalism is not only an offense against God, it’s incompatible with our basic American principles. It is a scourge on our land, and not to speak out against bigotry, hate, and the violence they inspire is to be complicit in the slaughter. As followers of Jesus Christ, we are called – we’re authorized – to speak love through solidarity with those who are being singled out for persecution, whoever they are. Arrogance, hate, fear, and violence simply have no place in a community which calls itself Christian.

         So, what do we do with those who are hateful and violent?

         That’s the really, really hard part. While the voice of white nationalism has absolutely no place in a Christian community, all people – including white nationalists – do. Those who are inclined toward fear and hate need to hear a message that encourages love, humility, compassion, forgiveness, and welcome.

         Ananias responds quickly to God’s voice. “Here I am, Lord,” he says. His response stands in stark contrast to Saul’s oblivious question, “Who are you, Lord?”

         And God tells Ananias to go find “a man of Tarsus named Saul.” He’s praying right now. He’s blind. I’ve told him you’re coming. Go lay your hands on him and help him see, again.

         Ananias wants nothing to do with Saul. Lord, I know who he is and what he’s done. He’s a walking hate crime! And powerful people have given him the authority to do whatever he wants to people like me!

         God says in effect, That’s not your concern. Just go.

         Under the authority of God, the authority of redeeming grace, Ananias goes to the house, and the first two words he speaks to the man who has so much in common with John Earnest of Poway, CA are, “Brother Saul.” And so, Saul begins a life-long process of restoration.

         This story is most often referred to asThe Conversion of Saul, but it’s also a conversion for Ananias. Ananias has to swallow the great porcupine of fear, and a hedgehog chaser of pride. God calls Ananias to demonstrate to Saul a measure of mercy that is so frequently foreign to fundamentalism.

         Ananias’ conversion bears witness to the demanding and yet foundational authority of our faith: “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?” says Jesus. (Luke 6:32) “I say…Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who abuse you.” (Luke 6:27-28)

         As angry and reactive as hate violence can make us, when we truly follow Jesus, when we focus on him as a way to see through his eyes, we will live kingdom of God lives even in the midst of the world’s chaos. Yes, we must speak out loudly against every form of hatred and brutality, and the apathy that allows them to continue. We must stand visibly with the poor, the hungry, the grieving, and the persecuted. At the same time, Jesus calls us to live with the humble and vulnerable trust of Ananias who welcomed not only the outcast but the powerful, dangerous sinner, as well. The conversion that matters is not necessarily to any particular doctrine, but to the transforming and unifying reality of love – which is the very heart of God beating at the very heart of creation.

         There’s no easy way to do any of this, but as Easter people, we can trust Jesus, whose teaching authorizes us to share with others exactly what he has given to us: Redeeming grace in a world overwhelmed by selfishness and meanness.

^{Footnotes 1, 2, 4,5}https://www.washingtonpost.com/religion/2019/05/01/alleged-synagogue-shooter-was-churchgoer-who-articulated-christian-theology-prompting-tough-questions-evangelical-pastors/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.bbb267e1cc2d&wpisrc=nl_rainbow&wpmm=1

^{Footnote 3}https://opc.org/historian.html

Dear Friends,

         I have a confession: I don’t always practice what I preach. But that’s no surprise. Being human, I’m as broken and in need of forgiveness as anyone else.

         Confession and forgiveness are not on my mind because we’re in the Easter season. They’re on my mind because of three nights in North Carolina the week after Easter. My wife’s Christmas present to me was Friday at Merlefest in Wilkesboro, NC. Merlefest is similar to the National Storytelling Festival – only with music, and more stages, and more people. Lotsmore people. But my confession isn’t about Merlefest itself.

         Marianne made reservations for us at a 1950’s era, mom & pop motel that required a three-night minimum but which charged the same for those three nights as other places were charging for one night. “It’s clean, and they don’t put up with riff raff,” said the woman at the Wilkesboro Chamber of Commerce who recommended it to us.

         Okay.

         When we arrived, I asked the young man at the desk if ours was a non-smoking room.

         He winced, cocked his head to one side and said, “Well, it’ssupposedto be. And it’s just been painted.”

         Hmm.

         We hauled our baggage into our room. It was dark and damp as a cave, the air heavy with the smell old tobacco smoke. The blanket on the bed had a ragged cigarette hole burned in it. The furniture looked like Goodwill cast offs. Yellowed paint puckered on the bare walls, especially in the unvented bathroom. The front lip of the toilet and the side rim of the wall-mounted sink occupied the same vertical plane. The window in the bathroom was rusted shut and clotted thick with paint for privacy. In the dusty, cinderblock sill, two washcloths lay next to two wrapped bars of soap thinner than saltine crackers. People down the walkway and across the lot seemed to watch us a little too closely.

         My heart sank and sped up at the same time. I felt like I was on a mission trip – minus the mission work.

         “This is worse than I expected,” I said to Marianne – who had so graciously planned the whole weekend. While she smiled a make-the-best-of-it smile, she clearly felt anxious, too.

         The friendly folks at the motel did let us move to a different room. And while the air inside was somewhat better, all else remained equal.

         Even as I struggled with the idea of paying good money for these accommodations, I knew exactly what I was doing. I was making judgments, judgments about the people who owned the motel, the people who stayed there, the people who lived in the apartments behind the motel. Most of all, I was judging myself as deserving of better and more. My attitude ran counter to virtually everything I preach and teach. My deep failure was in refusing to feel and express gratitude, and not just for the fact of food, clothing, shelter, and water. Utterly consumed by my perceived lack of privilege, I failed to be grateful to and for the person who loved me enough to want to have a new experience with me. I got better over time, but at the outset, tired from Easter’s frenzy, anxious about being ready for the next Sunday, and entitled from having lived a pretty comfortable life so far, I was anything but humble and grateful – much less enjoyable.

         I was in good company. “I’m full of myself,” said Paul. “What I don’t understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise…I obviously need help!…I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway…Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.” (From Rom.7 – The Message)

         I said that I felt like I was on a mission trip with no mission work to do. Mission is everything we do as followers of Jesus, though. We are called at all times and all places to serve and not to be served. (Mt. 20:28) Even when we’re tired. Even when we’re on vacation. To do anything less is to separate ourselves from others – something Jesus never did.

         I apologize to my dear wife. If she had looked at me with her kind smile and said, “Bless your heart,” I would have deserved it.

         Thank you, Marianne, for a wonderful gift.

         In the future, I will try to embrace the magnificent promise of Easter with greater compassion, intention, joy – and gratitude.

                                                               Peace,

                                                                        Allen