WH;EN GOD CALLS

 "And God said to the man, 'Remove your sandals for the ground you are standing upon is holy" -- Ex. 2:5 

   

    I introduce this post with the colorful, mesmerizing graphic you see above. I do so because, for me, it raises several interesting questions and speculative possibilities for both theology and philosophy with the first being, what do you see? If you had to describe this to someone who had been born blind, what would you say? Would you describe it as a beautifully designed colorful twisting bulb; or a boiling orb? Would you say it was an ingeniously designed modern graphic designed with AI? A fiery fountain, perhaps; or, something alien and sinister; other-worldly? How do you describe the indescribable?
     In looking at this graphic what emotions does it invoke? Wonder? Excitement? Curiosity? Fear? Are you mesmerized in its turning, rolling motion? Does it tug at you moving you to step forward to get a closer look? Does it move you spiritually and, if so, how would you begin to describe the experience? If you are so moved and your curiosity has gotten the best of you to get closer then, I suggest, we may be getting a glimpse as to what Moses experienced when he looked to the side of a Midian mountain and and saw the burning bush and said, "I must see this marvelous sight" (Ex. 3.3). 
     Prior to this moment we know very little of this man, Moses. His entire early life, from birth to his flight from Egypt after killing a slave-driver happens within the first fourteen verses of the second chapter in Exodus. We are told that he was born to a Hebrew slave of the House of Levi and to save his life during a purge of infant Hebrew males his mother had set him adrift in the River Nile. How this was to save his life I can't imagine since the infant could easily have died from exposure, drowning, or been eaten by the dreadful Nile crocodiles. Still, it was probably better than watching him killed by Pharaoh's guards and speaks volumes of the measures a mother might take in a panic to save her child. 
     Discovered by the daughter of Pharaoh who assumes (correctly) that the child is Hebrew, the baby is lifted from the water and the daughter decides to keep him rather than accede to a royal decree to murder Hebrew infants. By coincidence the baby's mother is hired to suckle the child and Pharaoh's daughter names him Moses and raises him as a royal prince of Egypt. Why this never raised suspicion among the royal family as to where the baby came from is never mentioned as it, most likely wasn't relevant to the original telling of the story. 
     In Ex. 2:11, we find Moses grown into manhood and, somehow, aware of his Hebrew heritage. One day, while going out to where his "brethren" -- the Hebrew slaves -- were working, Moses observes one of them being beaten by a slave-master and intercedes by killing the Egyptian. When Moses learns that news of the killing had spread and that Pharaoh was looking to capture and kill him, Moses fled Egypt. 
     After crossing the vast Sinai peninsula Moses arrives in the Midian of western Arabia where he encounters several women at a well being assaulted by shepherds. Once more he intercedes chasing the shepherds away and rescuing the women who believe him to be an Egyptian. The women, tell their father, Reuel (in other passages he is called, Jethro), of how the stranger had rescued them and Reuel,  in turn, welcomes the stranger into his tent where he stays and marries one of the daughters, Zipporah, and settles down into the life of a Midian sheep herder. 
     Now, Moses' father-in-law is described as "a priest" (Ex.3:1). We are not told what sort of priest or of what religious or cultic belief he is associated with. However, we do know that many of the nomadic tribes of western Arabia 3500 years ago worshiped a number of local deities, one of which was centered on the god, "Yahweh," who was worshiped over his perceived power over nature and over war. Was Reuel one of Yahweh's priests? We don't know. What we do know is what happened next. 
     When I first saw the rolling, twisting graphic above, my very first thought was of the "Burning Bush" (who knows what it really looked like?). To say that it was 'burning,' or that it was a 'bush,' could have simply been a way to describe the indescribable. Once, again, I ask can you describe what you see?  
     If you were to observe such a wondrous sight on the side of a hill what would you do? Would you be frightened and run away to call 9-1-1? Or would your curiosity get the best of you and, like Moses, make you want to see this "marvelous sight?" And, once more, I ask how would you feel? Would it be a temporal experience of the unreal or would you be moved spiritually in an experience of a sacred moment where a voice said, "Remove your sandals for the ground you stand upon is holy?" 
     What, exactly, is a sacred moment? To be sure, such moments are open to definition as each of us would experience such moments differently. For Moses it was to stand upon holy ground. For Jesus it was a dove descending from Heaven. For the Apostle Paul it was in a blinding flash. Regardless of how we experience such moments, there is one thing that seems obvious: It is a moment in which we feel somehow possessed, as though something has entered us, surrounds us, moves within us and draws us into an inner contemplation about who we were Yesterday; who we are Today; and who will we be Tomorrow?  

    Life is full of such sacred moments that, surprisingly, have little or no direct connection to a formal religion or belief. Our wedding day, for example, calls us to consider who we were as a single person versus who we want to be as a husband or wife; the happiness of the man or woman we are marrying and what the future might be like as we go through life together. The day our first child is born pulls us into further contemplation of today and tomorrow and the kind of parent we hope to be and the kind of person we hope this child will grow into. And, nothing seems more sacred than the fear we feel as parents when a child suffers from some life-threatening illness.
     Jewish philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel described a sacred moment as one in which we are "struck by Wonder." Standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon, for instance, or watching a sunset from the Swiss Alps would seem an appropriate description of being struck by Wonder. However, Heschel isn't talking about these natural wonders that place us in awe of nature which happens to all of us at one time or another. No, for Heschel, to be "struck by wonder" is to experience the presence of the Holy. It is a moment in which we discover how much we are loved and are affirmed in our very person in much the same way a lost child experiences love and affirmation upon being found.
     To be "struck by wonder," seems to me to be an appropriate description of Moses as he gazed upon that Midian mountain side. The story of Moses at the burning bush is not just a story of how God calls us to a task, although he most certainly does. It is more a tale of God's boundless love in reaching out to take hold of a human heart lost to this temporal world and calls it to action on a plane we never imagined possible. And, it seems to me that it isn't so much that, "God so loved the world that he gave," as it is, "God so loves the world that he calls" to each of us to come out of our past and into His future to be His sons and daughters."    
    This 'boundless' nature of God's Love is particularly evident when it comes to those whom God calls to be His messengers. Moses, Isaiah, David, even Saul of Tarsus. Each seem unlikely recipients of such a call. Their pasts were filled with sinful actions that would get many of us thrown in prison, today. Can any of us look into our past and not feel the tug of regret or shame for who were were then and the activities we engaged in? The really cool thing is, when God calls there is no regard for who you were; no regard for those past mistakes; no regard to your failures; no regard for your social status. In fact, it seems that those whom God chooses are precisely those whose lives were less than perfect, but who were unafraid to answer His call in a moment of deep wonder. This courage to step into the future can be seen in each instance where the Lord steps into someone's life and says, "Follow me." 
     I attended a lecuture a number of years ago where the speaker looked out upon the gathered faces of young seminarians and asked, "What would you do if God confronted you and said, 'You have twenty years left. Build me a school!'"

     In moments where you and I are confronted with the Eternal -- be it a burning bush or a beautiful, wondrous sunset, or an ingenious twisting graphic -- we acutely understand that we are being confronted with ourselves (the Divine always turns us inward). When God calls we are forced to think about who we were Yesterday, for it was only yesterday that we were born, and yesterday is where all our mistakes and our shame are buried.  
    When God calls we are forced to think about Today, for today is the moment that is "Now." Theologian Paul Tillich (1885-1965) made reference to an "Eternal Now," which is this moment that becomes the next moment ad infinitum. Today is the moment where we live and the moment in which we are capable of acting to change our lives and to affect change in the lives of others. It is this, Now, in which we are being called and to which we must respond.
     At the same time, when God calls we are forced to look at Tomorrow, for tomorrow we may be gone along with any chance for change. So everything that God wants us to know, to learn and to get done must be done, Today, and even if He tells us we have twenty years left, He wants us to start, today! That is what is meant when we talk about a "calling." God's call is a call to action, right now!  It is not a call to sit down and work on a game plan, or get educated, and, even less about a life-time career though those might be steps to consider. No! God's call is a call to act, Today! Yesterday is gone, let it go; today is the moment to act, so act now! And how we act, today, impacts tomorrow, even if we won't be there. 
     Not to get off topic, but as an aside, as a former service member, I have read after-action reports and sat and listened, through tears, of tales of survival simply because someone acted, now. The Tom Hanks film, "Saving Pvt. Ryan" is just such a tale of men who sacrificed their lives so that the last surviving son of a family back home could be saved. When God calls we may not even know it. A voice suddenly screams, "Save your buddies, now!" And you act, leaving them to forever remember that self-sacrifice. That is the whole meaning of the Vietnam Memorial and all the other memorials to our war dead: Remembrance. Remembrance of entire generations that gave up their young as a sacrifice for our survival. That is the meaning of all our memorials, and that should be our gratitude -- as a living memorial -- to all those who not only lost their lives in our most recent foreign conflicts, but who also lost their limbs and, sometimes, their minds, as well. 
   God calls to us in acts of remembrance which is why we observe Easter and Passover, Christmas and Hannukah, and a number of other religious holidays in between. It is why we choose to worship on our holy day. It not only serves as remembrance but as a living testament to our faith, today. Right now.
     When God calls we, like the Prophets and all our biblical heroes, may think ourselves unworthy because our souls are filled with all that past guilt and shame. We say we are incapable of responding to this "call" and we cry out, "Why me?" Self-doubt is a natural reaction to any confrontation with the Holy. 

     Psychology tells us that our feelings of inferiority is a form of pride since we are comparing ourselves over and against something we hold in higher esteem; something we, ourselves, have either failed to attain or believe ourselves incapable of attaining. Little wonder the same holds true when God calls. However, when God calls we are strengthened to overcome this self-doubt; to overcome our insecurities and our guilt over our past failings. All we have to do is act on that strength in the knowledge that we have been "accepted."

     When God calls, our shame is cast aside because at that moment we come to realize that if God has called us, then all of our fears and anxieties over all of our yesterdays are for naught because we are accepted. And, to me, that is the true meaning of the biblical account of the burning bush. As I see it, Moses had no particular religious belief; had killed a man and had become a fugitive. He settled in Midian where he was considered "an Egyptian" (Ex. 2:19). Moses had a past, a past that he was running from and had no wish to go back to. In fact, I would argue that Moses wasn't really a Hebrew until God called him to be by saying, "I am the God of your father." Thereupon, it fell to Moses the task of bringing God's people out of the slavery that was Egypt (Ex. 3:10). 
     When God calls us by name, He is telling us we are released from all those, yesterdays that burden us with guilt and shame. The calling of God means we have been cleansed and now that we are clean, we must put on the cloak of cleanliness to fulfill a task He has given us. And, exactly, what is that task we are being called to do? You might say, it is to "bring good news to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to captives, to open the prison of those who are bound, and to declare the Good Day of the Lord" (Is. 61:1). And, of course that would, certainly, be true which is why we have pastors and ministers, rabbi's and priests, immams and elders. Christians, in particular, are called to "feed the hungry, give drink to those who thirst, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, care for the dispossessed, heal the sick and visit the imprisoned" (Matt. 25:35-36), in other words, begin living your life in a manner in which you, "love God with all your heart and all your soul, and you love your neighbor as much as you love yourself" (Matt. 26:36-40). When you stop to think about that, it is a fitting counter to those who promote hate, division, mendacity, war and death and would ensure that the Kingdom of God actually exists. Why else would Jesus say that the Kingdom is here within all of us (Luke 17:15)?

     But, whether you are caring for a parish church bringing good news to all, or you are simply loving God and your neighbor, our testament to our faith and our calling is manifest in our ability to return God's forgiveness to us by offering that forgiveness to others. The call of God is a call to show "mercy," and mercy can only come about through "forgiveness." God calls each of us to practice and preach the forgiveness He has shown us, for only one who has received mercy can dispense mercy. That is what God calls us to do: to be merciful. Does it mean we now have to go to church, synagogue or mosque? Does it mean we have to be religious in any particular form? I would like to say, yes, but there are plenty of examples in the world of non-religious people showing forgiveness and mercy towards their fellows and the truth is, without Mercy there is no God; no Forgiveness; no Hope.

    The image of the "burning bush" (however you may conceive it to be), is one that speaks our name and calls us to act in remembrance of how God has been merciful to us in freeing us from our Past. God's call calls us into the Present, calls us into holiness, not just to God or Christ but to ourselves and to our neighbor. God forgives us which brings hope for tomorrow and, in turn, we are required to bring hope to others and  all of their tomorrows. If we can do that, then we come to truly understand what it means when God calls with the words, "Remove your sandals, for the ground you are standing upon is holy" (Ex. 3:5).

FINDING FAITH

 "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."  

     I think most of us will recognize those words as the opening line of the Twenty-third Psalm, a prayer or a song, written by King David which has stood the test of time and has both comforted and inspired people facing some trial, be it mental, emotional or physical; always personal. It has been the subject of hundreds, if not thousands, of interpretations from laymen to biblical scholars.

     In a recent lecture, Rabbi Ed Feinstein of the Valley Beth Shalom congregation in Encino, CA., proffered that when we read the Twenty-third Psalm we should ask ourselves, what was going on when this psalm was written? What happened fifteen minutes before it was set to pen?

     Most scholars agree that King David was girding himself for battle. Against whom we don't know, although the Bible tells us his battles were many. As I sit here this morning, working on my second cup of coffee, I am aware that we face many battles, ourselves, as we make our way through this adventure called, "life," I'd like to tackle this psalm, not as an analysis of David as he prepared for yet one more skirmish with his enemies, but to understand how these words speak to us, today as we prepare for our daily skirmishes with living. So, here we go...

     "The Lord is my shepherd..." How often do we allow ourselves to think that we need someone to look after us? As adults we go through life caring for our families, raising our children, managing our careers and...well, that's it, isn't it? Managing. We see ourselves as the manager, the one in control. Husbands and wives plan together (or, at least, they should) taking control by working through household budgets and the simple, and sometimes testy, issues of marriage to satisfy their needs. We raise our children to respect one another (or, at least, we should) and hope they grow into productive adults and good citizens. We compete for better jobs to make a better salary and, therefore, increase the prosperity of ourselves and our families (or, at least, we should). The need for a shepherd -- a guide -- somehow seems a sign of weakness and a threat to our feeling "independent" which, in my view, is a code-word for I don't need any help, advice, direction or instruction. "Let me do it," is a mantra we learned as children yearning to break free from parental oversight. I can take care of myself, thank you. It is a rebellion against what we see as too much oversight in an environment that is confining, restrictive, and overbearing. We all have experienced the demeaning effect of micro-management at one time or another. The result is that we long to be free. So,what does it mean when a prayer is an acknowlegement that we need a guide, a protector, a shepherd? 

     "The Lord is my shephered, I shall not want..." What confidence is in those nine words. Children understand that they will be (or supposed to be) protected from want. Jesus taught us that God takes care of the birds of the air, won't he, then, take care of us (Matt. 6:33)? I am comforted that there is someone who is looking after me, assuring me that all my earthly needs and all my spiritual needs will be met. But, how confident can I be when I am dispirited? When I don't have enough money to buy my daughter a prom dress or to pay for my son's dental work. When I don't have enough money to pay for my wife's auto repairs let alone buy groceries? How confident am I when my wants aren't being met; when I am made to feel insignificant, even unwanted? What am I to do when my prayers go unanswered?

     "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He teaches me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake.." In living this life that often brings us turmoil in one form or another, reassurance, calmness and restoration can, at times, seem far off.

     From a psychological perspective it is always good to have a place -- a green pasture -- that offers us solice. It could be a quiet walk in the woods or a park, or an old fishing hole; any place where we are find comfort and are filled with warmth (even on a cold winter's day). A place where we are undisturbed and free from the pressure-driven panic that sometime's grips us in the midst of life's turbulence and anxiety. As we rest in this "fortress of solitude" we can hear the Voice of calm and reason -- the still waters -- that teach us, even if by remembering how we worked things out before, that life is good and remains full of possiblities; that the horizon isn't as dark as it seems. That reassurance drives away doubt and uncertainty.

     In the calmness of our reassurance we begin to see that we are loved; loved by a Power that is greater than we are and whose name we don't even know. Perhaps we will learn it later but, for now, we become aware that this unknown, unseen Power is telling us that we are forgiven, even by things we are totally unaware of. Forgiveness is like a mothers love. It doesn't mean our transgressions won't get a good tongue-lashing, or be punished, but it does mean that we are still loved. It is the foregiveness bound in that love that drives us to walk in humble respect for all that life offers -- the good along with the bad -- because that is our plight as a living, breathing being. We are fortunate, indeed, to have the opportunity to breath the air, feel the breeze, be in awe of a sunrise or sunset, to see the stars and wonder about what lies out beyond this place called Earth. We don't have much time. Indeed, our days are numbered; some shorter than others, so why do we waste our time on pettiness? To walk humbly with God for his name's sake makes us a vessel through which his blessings flow.

      "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death..." Have you ever felt the pain, the fear and the anxiety of having to walk through that valley? Soldiers down through the ages have surely felt it; I have definitely felt it. But those same feelings arise in unexpected ways: a medical condition requiring surgery, or one that carries a terminal message; the sudden loss of a parent or child or of a spouse create through age, disease or accident brings on unimaginable grief that is the very nature of that valley. Hearing a cell door clang shut behind you presents its own feeling of anxiety and danger. To know deep anxiety, fear, or grief is to walk in that valley. And, yet, "I fear no evil for You are with me..." It is in our assurance wrought from the calmness that restored us that sustains us in such moments, and knowing that we walk with the Righteous One means we have nothing to fear of the evil brought on by (as President Roosevelt said) "fear itself."

     To walk humbly with God means that God's armor protects us. Not from tragedy or death or disease or anxiety or our personal fear of failure, but from evil. God's armor protects us from the personal evil that creeps up on us in those moments when our guard is down; when we doubt the reassurance that we are a child of God; when we no longer see ourselves as a vessel of His love and blessings; when the temptation to evil seems overpowering blinding us to the Shepherd who walks with us; when we become lost in the pain of rejection, isolation and fear or in our rebellion against our "freedom." 

      God's armor is simple: a rod and a staff, the historical tools of the shepherd to keep the flock in line and to battle the wild beasts who prey upon them. That is our comfort. It's that simple. Our reward for walking with the Shepherd is a Way -- the table -- prepared for us even though our enemies are close. At this table we celebrate life even in the face of turmoil, unrest, calamity and death. Our hope lies in the laughter and song that decries evil as having no affect on us for we have been annointed; our prospects for a good life are like a "cup that runneth over;" and, that as I walk in concert with the Shepherd, "surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord, forever."

THE REDEMPTIVE POSSIBILITIES OF IMPERFECTION

 “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” (Rom. 3:23)

     If there is one sentence in the Bible that expresses an absolute universal truth it is in this third chapter of Romans. "All have sinned," and "All have fallen short of God's glory." The writer of Matthew's Gospel seems to underscore Paul's sentiments when he wrote that, "(God) makes the sun to shine on the just and the unjust" (Matt. 5:45), reminding us that while no one has been born perfect or has lived a perfect life God's love for all abounds. Those claiming to have lived a righteous life deceive themselves, and their deception of self-righteousness is, itself, a sin. 

    Each of us, all of us, has experienced the tugs of temptation. We lust after another; covet what others have; we've lied and been dishonest and the process dishonored ourselves and our families. Each of us, all of us, has gotten angry at one point or another; grown hateful, revengefull and argumentative even toward those whom we love. We may pat ourselves on the back and say, "there but for the Grace of God, go I" (John Bradford, 1510-1555) believing that, while we may not have participated in any particular act there are moments in each of our lives when we have not walked with God. 

   Theologian Paul Tillich (1883-1965) referred to this as, estrangement. To be estranged is to be cut off, separated from that to which we essentially belong. Thus, to not walk with God is to be separated from God. Echoing the words of Isaiah that headline this post, Tillich reminds us that "separation" from God is the very definition of "sin."

      All of us were born a perfect human child. However, each of us have our own unique story to tell regarding our growth and the physical, cultural and emotional environment in which we were raised. Too much discipline, or the lack of it; love, or the lack of it; a value system that included a cultural emersion in politics or religion, or the lack of it, produced certain character traits that influenced who we would become as adolescents that would carry over into adulthood. The intense influence of "peer pressure" from those whose upbringing may have been totally different from our own cannot be discounted. For example, I gave up smoking when my children were very young. I did not want that to be an influence on them. Yet, by the time they were teenagers, all of their friends smoked. The result was that they, too, were smoking by the time they became young adults.

     I've known people who never allowed alcohol into their homes, yet their children grew up to become alcoholics or drug addicts. No one is immune from heartache and tragedy. And that includes families of faith who have known the heartbreak of their teenage daughter telling them that she is pregnant, or a son calling from a jail cell after having been arrested for some heinous crime. How many wives or husbands suffer under the heartache of a spouse who left them for another? How many of us have been the source of such pain? In the midst of such turmoil and darkness parents, children and spouses cry out, "Where did I go wrong?" All of these very human encounters with the world serve to illustrate how truly imperfect we humans are. Nothing can be made right unless something has been made wrong.    

     "There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death," (Proverbs14:12). Self-destructive behavior is the major sign of our estrangement from our selves and from others. "We, like sheep, have all gone astray; we have turned -- every one of us -- to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all," (Isiah 53:6). 

      I once met a man who made the amazing claim that he had "never done a wrong thing in his entire life." I have heard preachers declare that they have "always walked in righteousness," and then, we read in the papers of their misconduct. There are those whose lies are so clearly evident and, yet, they are steadfast in their claim that they are telling the truth. Mark Twain once remarked that, "Fiction is stranger than truth, because fiction has to make sense." 

    All of us, you and me, are perfectly born but we develop imperfectly. Whether it's biological, sociological or psychological, the vagaries of this life lead us astray and, yet, it is those same vagaraies that help us to find our way back. Once cast out of the metaphorical "Garden of Eden," humankind has spent eons trying to find its way back. Strangely, it is my opinion that that is precisely how our God, who is the very Ground of our Being, planned it. I mean, seriously, how can we find our way back to God if we are not at first lost or separated? How can there be redemption if there is nothing to be redeemed from?

    "Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own" (Phil. 3:22)

     I confess that I am not much of a fan of the Apostle Paul, although he intrigues me greatly; mostly because of his forthrightness. Paul is a sinner. He makes no bones of it. He freely admits that he has sinned and that he continues to sin. He says, that "the good I wish to do I don't do, but the bad that I do not wish to do, I do" (Romans 7:19). What that sin is, is never made clear, and has been the source of specultation for two-thousand years. Such speculation on what that "bad" was is irrelevant and a waste of time. The important thing is Paul presses on in his quest for righteousness in Christ, continually fighting against whatever demons plagued his soul in order to bring his message of the risen Christ to the world. Scripture, and modern psychology, tell us that without struggle there can be no revival. Without imperfection there can be no redemption.

     And, where do we find such redemption? In church? Certainly the church should provide a nurturing environment for such redemption. Yet, I have known churches that have cast out, or excommunicated someone whose sins have become public. Other churches disallow participation in communion unless you are a member of that particular congregation, and over the past year we have heared of some faith communities rejecting Christ's teachings as, "too woke." 

    What about the community, can we find redemption there? Perhaps, however many communities across America have placed those convicted of certain felonies (and misdemeanors) on registries that ban them from housing or living in certain areas and from even going to church without announcing their registered status, and even then they must receive the church's permission before they can worship.                  Separating people out, putting them in niches to be watched, prohibiting them from freely participating hardly seems the way to any kind of redemption. Finger pointing is our way of feeling good about ourselves without having to address the fact that we are all sinners should give us pause to rethink our belief and our relationship with our Lord.

      My maternal grandfather often said that redemption "is found on our knees." It is there, on our knees that we confess our wrongs, our mistakes, our sin. It is on our knees, where we are forgiven and where we promise to try -- and I emphasize 'try' -- to go forward and live a sin-free life through a reunion with our God.     

     Jesus said to the crowd about to stone the woman taken in adultery, "Let you who is without sin, cast the first stone" (John 7:53), and after the crowd had left, he said to the woman, "Go, and sin no more." What happened to her after that we do not know. But, I can tell you what will happen to the woman if she commits adultery again and, when brought to the stoning ground, finds that Jesus isn't there. 

     Once redeemed from our sins we must not return to our sinful ways. We have been given a great gift when Jesus says, "Neither do I condemn you." It is this totality of love for the other that flows from God through Christ that restores us. This is what is at the core of the redemptive possibilities of imperfection.  

   

ON GOD'S LOVE FOR US

      "Accustom yourself to the wonderful thought that God loves you with a tenderness, a generosiy, and intimacy which surpasses all of your dreams. Give yourself up with joy to a loving confidence in God and have the courage to believe firmly that God's actions towards you is a masterpiece of partiality and love. Rest tranquily in this abiding conviction." -- Abbé Henri de Tourville (1842-1903)

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

"You no longer have a choice in how to live your life once you are awakened to God's Glory. We are God-created, Jesus-grounded, Grace-bound in Love, and founded in a Church that welcomes all to the Table of Fellowship." -- Serene Jones, Pres., Union Theological Seminary

WHO HAS THE COURAGE?

 

1.  "You have heard that it was said, 'YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR, and HATE your enemy.' But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you in order that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and unrighteous." (Matt. 5:44-45)
2.      In our modern world this scripture passage seems so out of place. The daily news is filled with stories of acts of wanton violence perpetuated upon the innocent. We are pushed to the brink in a cacophany of fear-mongering against those unlike us. The news cycle constantly disturbs us with stories of a school shooting; a drive-by that killed a small child; ex-felons working in our schools; sex offenders living next door; convicted murderers walking the streets; and, serial killers that could be any one of us.                                                                                   In Wichita, Kansas a serial killer who taunted the police became known as the BTK killer. Many years later, the Wichita community was shocked to learn that the  killer who had terrorized the area for years, was the local dog-catcher in the northern suburb of Park City. He seemed a kindly man; a family man; a church-goer who sang in the choir and taught a Sunday school class.  
3.     September 11, 2001 taught us that we are not beyond the reach of those whose hate for America is so great that they will come into the country with the sole purpose of killing Americans in the name of God. Jesus warned us of this when the told his disciples (John 16:2) that the day was coming when "those who kill you will believe thay are performing a service to God." That's scary stuff.                                Hate-mongering peddled in the media and the growing political suspicion between Red States and Blue has divided friends and families. The COVID-19 pandemic with its lockdowns, mask mandates, vaccination requirements, and the influx of vast amounts of misinformation disguised as truth has further divided us to the point that some politicians are calling for a 'divorce' among the states, a position that clearly sounds like a call for secession. Is our nation on the brink of another Civil War? Have we not learned anything in the past one-hundred and fifty-plus years?
4.     As Christians commanded to walk in the footsteps of Christ by loving all and hating no one seems almost too much to ask when social platforms and podcasts encourage us to hate the "other.' We are surrounded by perpetual violence: shootings in our schools, churches, synagogues and the wanton slaughter on our streets seem to mock us for calling for love towards our enemies. Love your neighbor as much as you love yourself? But he or she is one of  THEM! And, that's the point, isn't it? It's always US versus THEM, a corruptive division that seems to be culturally, socially and religiously, embedded in the soul of America. And yet, such division is the antihesis of what it means to be a Christian, in a nation that calls itself, Christian. 
5.     Yes, we have our differences of opinion in all things social, cultural, religious and political, but taking such differences to the heights of despising, hating, assaulting one another verbally and physically; destroying someone's character through lies and distortions of truth; by demonizing one another to simply gain cheap political/social points that creates more division rather than working things out for the good of the whole seems to me more Evil than Good. Deceit is everywhere; and, itsn't that the hallmark of evil? As Christians we are called to combat deceit and to work for the Good; to rise above division to bring Unity and Peace to God's Creation?                                                                                                                          The Apostle Paul tells us (Gal. 3:28) that in Christ "there is neither Greek nor Jew, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." In the eyes of God there is no distinction between one person and another; no black or white, no Red or Blue, no privilege for one side over another. God is impartial, and to prove it He sent his Son to show us that it is possible to live a human life to its fullest with impartiality and love towards all. Christ dined with prostitutes (today's sex offender) and the despised tax collector (the IRS). He offered an open table where broke bread with drunkards, ex-convicts, former slaves, and when asked by a Roman Centurian to heal his servant, he did (Matt. 8:5)! Jesus embraced the marginalized and the unwelcomed precisely to show that in God's eyes there is no partiality. Most surprisingly, especially for the self-righteous, Christ tells us (Matt. 21:31) that all those whom society condemns and pushes aside as so much waste will be the first to enter Heaven. Chew on that for a moment.                                         This tendency of humans to cast aside, disenfranchise, imprison and throw their fellow human beings to "the lions" simply because they have offended us or look different than we do, vote different than we do, this whole self-righteous attitude that this world is for US and not for YOU is the cause of great suffering throughout the land and it is the very thing that Christ came to end; and, he was crucified for it. As Christians, we are called to stand in His place; to advocate for social change that breaks down the walls that separate us, and to stand firm against the vitriol from those who want to maintain a status quo that promotes division and priviledge of one class over another even when they invoke the name of Christ to justify their actions. 
6.    As Christians, we are called to BE THE VESSEL through which God's impartiality becomes a reality. Who -- I'm asking a question, now -- WHO HAS THE COURAGE to answer that call? 
7. 
   

JUST SIGN THE GUESTBOOK AND LEAVE

 "My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And, if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me" (John 14:2-3)

      For people of faith, the scriptural passage above attests to the assurance that something awaits us when this present life of ours passes away.  Such assurance offers us comfort in our final days -- or hours -- but what if these verses no longer hold out hope for those facing Ultimate Concern? What if we, as ministers, were forced to find an answer that satisfies a deep spiritual need without benefit of God's Word? What if scripture, chapter and verse, no longer fills our Ultimate Concern? That is a question that should be of concern to all of us who claim the mantel of, "minister," and it begs the question how do we answer 21st Century questions when those 1st Century answers no longer apply? 
     In seminary we are taught that scripture is our shield and our charge is to proclaim scripture to the faithful and unfaithful, alike. It is easy to preach the Gospel to the faithful; not so easy among the unfaithful, especially to those who have fallen away, lost their faith in a series of pitfalls, and for whom scripture no longer offers them hope. As "shepherds" we are charged with searching for, and finding, these "lost sheep," but how do we find the answers these lost sheep so desperately seek? Is it possible to find an answer that spiritually satisfies our Ultimate Concern within a secular world-view? And, if so, how might such an answer look like? Can we accomplish such an enourous task and still maintain that it is Christian? That question is the point of today's post.
     If you're a college graduate -- especially if, like me, you took a degree in Philosophy -- you've heard your professors scoff at such notions of "God," of religion in general, and, especially of a life-after-death. Such responses come from their own, admitted, atheism. If philosopher's hold any sort of religious viewpoint at all, then it is that, "to dust we came from and to dust we shall return" (Eccl. 3:20). And, even the writer of Ecclesiastes didn't address what happens to us when we return to that dust. Thus, at best, philosophers reject religious belief out of a stoic agnosticism.
      Seminarians have heard chaplains and teachers speak with assurance, enthusiasm, love and zeal of their joyful expectation of life after death in a world without pain, without tears, without suffering and where we will be reunited with loved ones who preceded us. And, in each instance such joy and assurance is punctuated with a scriptural reference, as in the verse from John 14 (above). Is there life after death? Apart from my faith, I can't answer that with certainty and I don't know of anyone who can. None of those I have known to pass have  ever returned to assure me, even though I have encountered many of them in my dreams at night, albeit without any mention of what the afterlife is like. 
     All of the world's religions hold to some notion of the soul's eternal life after this one has passed away. Archaeologists have discovered ancient graves going as far back as 100,000 years where the dead were buried with a care and consideration that only a belief in an afterlife would indicate. Weapons, clothing, food, other personal items and, depending on the departed's status in the community, sometimes personal servants and pets would be sacrificed to attend to the dead in their life-post-life. So, the belief in some form of immortality appears to run deep and long within human history. 
    Still, such beliefs are not universally held. As mentioned, philosophy treats religion from afar. It is just one more topic in a pantheon of topics grounded in the search for Reason. As a topic, religion falls into that area of philosophy called, Metaphysics and its many subsets such as, Ontology and the meaning of existence (as opposed to the meaning of non-existence). But that doesn't mean that philosophers haven't tried. The French philosopher, Blaise Pasqual (1623-1662) formulated what has become known as, Pasqual's Wager. It was his way of determining whether to believe, or not believe, in a hereafter. The 'wager' goes like this: If I believe in life after death, and upon my passing I discover that there is such an existence, then, as a believer, I have won. If I believe, and especially, if I disbelieve, in a life after death, and upon my passing there is no such existence, just an eternal sleep, I still win because there is no post life that I will be aware of; just eternal sleep. On the other hand, should I reject faith, and I pass on in my disbelief of a post-life existence and there is a such an existence, then I lose in the condemnation of my disbelief. Thus, says Pasqual, the wager is 2-1 in favor of belief.

     Still, there exists room for doubt. The writer of Ecclesiastes doesn't help when he wrote: "For the fates of both men and beasts are the same: As one dies, so dies the other—they all have the same breath. Man has no advantage over the animals, since everything is futile. All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return" (3:20), and a passage our philosopher friends often like to quote as the basis for their disbelief. A rather bleak picture that reads as a very secular view of existence; one that doesn't fit nicely into what we have come to understand, theologically. We came from dust, and we return to dust and "the fates of both men and beasts are the same..." How do we, as people of faith, respond to that?

    For starters we could look to the ancient world were we find tales of gods who interacted with humans in various ways while offering the promise of immortality in a life beyond this earthly existence. However, tales and myths, today, are an insult to our modern understanding. Having been relegated to the dustbin of history, they become a subject in a high school literature class. Today, we are no longer shackled by myth or speculation over their supposed truths. Speculation serves as nothing more than an abstraction in the search for Truth. The same is true for the Church today which many have come to think has lost its way in ancient abstractions no longer in touch with "real life" and which no longer serve the needs of we 21st Century humans. Words of piety spoken in sermons or offered up in prayers, invoked in mindless repetition, no longer bear any relationship to the actual passions of a particular people, nor address their Ultimate Concerns for themselves or their loved ones. 
     The advent of modern science has overturned much of what we have come to believe about this Earth and the planets beyond. Voyages to the Moon and to the outer planets by numerous NASA missions tell us there isn't a "Heaven" up there in the sky, or in the clouds. Modern forensic medicine has taken giant leaps in our understanding about death, corruption of the human body and its decay, thus altering our views of any notion of a bodily "resurrection."

      For theology to even ask if there is life after death, is the spiritual-existential challenge to a secular world filled with doubt, cynicism and unbelief. This challenge comes in the form of a question whether theology can hold to a life-post-life, and if so, how can such a belief be expressed in theological terms that satisfy secular denial? I was once faced with such a question, This post is the story of that instance. It happened a number of years ago during my senior year at the University of Missouri, as I prepared for graduation and moving on to seminary, I was the student-pastor of a Presbyterian church in my hometown of Kansas City. During this time I was under the care of a supervisor assigned by the Presbytery as well as the church's senior and associate pastors. My duties were quite varied but included all aspects of the church's daily life.
      As with any other enterprise I was learning much about the ministry and the role of a pastor within the setting of a parish church when, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, both our senior and associate pastors resigned to answer calls to other churches. Immediately, the Presbytery stepped in to fill the void of ordained leadership by bringing in retired ministers to preach the Sunday sermon and lead the fellowship in worship. But keeping alive the life of the church the rest of the week -- leading the Young Adults group; supervising the mid-week Pot Luck dinner; assuring that Sunday school has enough teachers; overseeing the choir and music director; meeting with the interim pastor and preparing the church for worship; overseeing the community outreach to the poor, the sick and the shut-in; and, in our dire situation of lack of ordained leadership, chairing the weekly meeting of the Board of Elders. -- fell on my, admittedly, unprepared shoulders. Still, I welcomed the challenge as a test of my future in the Christian ministry. 
     Tuesday and Thursday were my assigned days for visitations, barring any emergency. In ministering to those whose infirmities no longer allowed them to attend services, my role was to offer the visited party encouragement and comfort, scriptural assurance, and prayer. One day, after preparing my list for the day's visits, our church secretary informed me that one particular visit I was to undertake was to be done with caution. "What sort of caution?" I asked.
     The secretary went on to explain that this particular call was to an elderly woman who had been a life-long member of the congregation and had, once, taken an active role in the life of the church. Now, she was hospitalized with a terminal illness and what had raised the cautionary flag, I was told, was that she had "lost her faith" through multiple personal tragedies and she no longer found comfort or assurance from the past visitations of our senior and associate pastors. The secretary went on to explain that, according to the family, the woman had become so distressed in the visits of our previous ministers that she, now, forbade the church to minister to her at all. The church secretary went on to say that this woman -- I'll call her, Helen -- had even told a family member that she would "rather face Hell, alone, than listen to one more biblical platitude." What an awful predicament, I lamented.
     The tragedies Helen had gone through were the loss of her husband as a soldier during the Second World War. This was followed by the loss pf her son, a young Marine in the Korean conflict of the early 1950's; and, then, she lost her only daughter in a horrible automobile accident. The suffering she had endured in these losses proved fatal to her faith even as she, now, struggled with her own end-of-life issue. Thus, my instructions were clear: Do not bother her! Simply, go to the nurse's station, sign the woman's guest book, which the family had provided, and leave. As I left to make my calls I couldn't help but imagine the grief Helen had suffered over the years and my heart ached that she no longer found comfort in the Bible's promises and I wondered what could be done, if anything? But the instructions were clear and seemed simple enough. Respect her privacy. Just sign the guest book and leave.
     Upon arriving at the hospital I proceeded to the nurse's station only to find it unattended; so, I waited; I waited a little longer; and, I waited even longer, still. It seemed odd that the station would be left unattended for a prolonged period of time but I theorized that, perhaps, there had been some hospital emergency that required extra attention from the staff. As my frustration over the long wait grew I began looking around for the guest book. Surely, it was there, somewhere, and I could quickly sign it, and leave.  But as I fumbled around the nurse's desk I saw nothing that even remotely looked like a guest book and I certainly didn't want to get caught rummaging through the drawers. What to do? Do I continue to wait, or do I leave? Go ahead and leave, I thought; come back another day. What's the difference? After all, my instructions were to just sign the guest book and leave, so how urgent is the visit anyway since it really isn't a visit in the first place, just a symbolic gesture to Helen's family. But, as I stood there, to just up and leave seemed somehow, cowardly, and given Helen's terminal condition, what if there wouldn't be another day? What if she had only hours left?
     As I stood about the nurse's station agonizing over a course of action, the urgency I felt to visit Helen, face-to-face, became overwhelming. As my instructions echoed in my ear -- just sign the guest book and leave -- the urgency I felt for this woman who, most assuredly, needed spiritual attention got the better of me. So, I looked up Helen's room number on the patient registry there on the desk at the nurse's station and proceeded down to her room.
     I softly knocked on her door, silently hoping she would be asleep and not hear the knock, which would then be my excuse to actually leave. However, from the other side of the door came a polite, "Come in." What follows is what hapened inside that tiny, sterile hospital room.

     I entered to find Helen sitting up in bed. She was a quite pleasant looking woman with silver hair and, though aged, it was apparent that here was someone who, in her youth, had been quite attractive. Upon seeing me she looked puzzled. Who was I? A doctor, perhaps? "Helen," I said. "My name is George, and I'm from Central Presbyterian Church." Helen looked astonished at first, then agitated as she began to admonish me for violating her instructions to refuse visitation by anyone from the church. She reached for the button that would buzz the nurse's station. 
     "There's no one there," I said. "I don't know where they are. I fully intended to simply sign your guest book and leave but since no one was there, rather than just leave, I thought it important to come down to your room and just tell you that there are those at Central Church who remember you; who still express their concern and love for you; and, I just wanted you to know that you are in all our prayers. Please, accept my apology for disturbing you." I turned to leave.
     "Wait," she said. "I'm the one who should apologize; I shouldn't have raised my voice; you seem nice enough, nothing at all like the stuffed-shirts that usually come here. Anyway, since you are here I will allow you to stay, but only on one condition."
      "What is that?" I asked.
     "To begin with," she said. "Every time Frank or Barry (our previous pastors) visited, all they could do was smile and quote scripture and tell me things that I had learned as a child in Sunday school. Jush blah, blah, blah. I don't want to hear that; I don't need that. Can you understand? So, to you, young Mr. George, you may stay if you can, without falling back on those old, tired biblical crutches of scripture and verse, answer me one question." 

     "I'll try," I responded. "What is the question?"

     Helen looked at me with grave concern in her eyes and said, "I want to know if there is a life after death? Is it true? Can you answer that without quoting the Bible? If you can, I would love to hear your answer, but if you can't, then I thank you for stopping by and have a nice day."
     No amount of seminary preparation; no amount of courses in Pastoral Care or counseling can prepare a minister (let alone a minister to be) for such a situation as this. We ministers go into the world as soldiers, armed with the Word of God and His testament as witnessed in the life of Jesus Christ. Our job is to comfort the weary, the infirm, and the troubled with the assurances provided by Holy Writ; to offer forgiveness of sin and to preach the Good News of Jesus Christ. But, here was a woman whose Ultimate Concern was her own imminent death and she had questions that I couldn't possibly answer without relying on scripture? Where does one even start? The first thing that popped into my mind was, "For this, you sent me?"
     I looked deep within her tired, old questioning eyes, eyes that begged to hear the assurance she so wanted, and I sensed there was more to her question than just her own post-life issue. I quickly ran a prayer through my mind. "Help!" I prayed. What could I possibly say that would comfort and assur her? My only response was to speak the truth, so  I shook my head and replied, "To be honest, Helen, I don't know. We have the assurances found in scripture; you probably know them by heart; the verses of how a place has been prepared; that God's love will surround us and our loved ones will be there. But since you no longer find comfort in those verses, let me share what I do know, or at least, think I know."
     Suddenly, as if she were about to hear heartbreaking news, Helen reached out and took my hand. "Go on," she said.
     "What I do know is that what all of us face in life is a journey, and each journey is its own story. Each story has a beginning and an end. So, I would like to talk with you about your journey. Let's start at the beginning with you having been a life-long member of Central Presbyterian Church." She shook her head affirmatively. "You were raised in the church," I said. It was a statement.
     "Yes," she said. "My  father was an Elder and my mother was the church secretary. I grew up in Central Church."  
     "And, as a child, I'm sure your early memories included being with all the other kids in Sunday school and, as you matured there were the youth groups; the young adults, and later on, the adult classes; the women's group and singing in the choir and ."
      "Yes," she whispered.
      "And, in all those years, as you grew and moved in the church from one class to the next, being with all the other kids you grew up with, did you feel the presence of God?"
     "Yes," she replied. "I was baptized in the church as were my brothers and sisters. The spirit of that church surrounded us and there was, and is, no doubt in my mind that God was there." 
     "So, you never felt as though God had, somehow, abandoned you?" I asked.
         "No, not once. Why should I?" she said.
       "So, what I'm hearing is, you actually felt the Lord's Presence; knew that He was there to comfort you in your prayers, and central to reassuring you in your life, in your hopes and in your dreams. Am I correct?" 
     "Oh, yes," Helen replied. "Even when my husband was drafted into the Army during the war, I felt an assurance that he would return to me and the children."
      "Your husband; the two of you met there in the church?"
     "He was so cute," she laughed. "I loved him at first sight and we were only about five years old. We went to the same elementary school, had a few classes together, and went to the same high school; we began dating when we were just fifteen years old."
     "You were in the Young Adult Club together?"
     "Oh, yes," she replied. "And, everyone knew we were in love. We married right after graduation."
     "And, in all that time as you grew up, fell in love and got married -- especially, on the day you were married -- did you experience the presence of God? Was there any loneliness that day as if Jesus had somehow stepped away?"
    "Never!" she said emphatically. "As I said, the church was important to both of us; we were married there and we made certain to raise our children there."
     "Our children are so important to us, aren't they?" I said.
     "Yes, they are. My faith, and my church, were always important to me and my husband and I wanted to pass that on the kids."
     "And, as your children grew, raising them in the faith, in the life of the church, did you, in all that time ever once feel abandoned, as though Jesus had walked away; had left you on your own, or that God no longer cared?"
     "No," she whispered. "Not once; why should I?"
     I paused before continuing, struggling with my own feelings of inadequacy and how to say what I wanted to say next. "But, God does care for us," I began. "We feel that care, especially, when tragedy strikes. And you, more than anyone, knows that none of us are immune to tragedy." It was a statement, not a question and, as I spoke, tears began to roll down her cheeks and I reached over, took a tissue from a box and handed it to her. As she dabbed at the tears I said, "When word came that you had lost the love of your life; the man you had loved since you were five years old; the father of your children and whom you felt assured would return to you at the end of the war; I cannot imagine the shock and the sadness you felt; it must have been overwhelming."
     "You have no idea," she tearfully replied.
     "Well," I began. "To add some perspective, my own mother told me that all the while I was in Vietnam, she had hardly slept; staying up late with worry over my safety and that when she had received the telegram that I had been wounded, she said she was almost in hysterics. Still, she said her faith kept her going. You may have experienced something similar."
    "There was a lot of hand-ringing in those days," she said. "Sometimes it seemed that the telegrams were coming daily. It was dreadful. There were several women in the church who had lost their husbands or boyfriends."
     "And, then you got a telegram?"
     "No, well, yes. An army officer and a chaplain came to the door. I knew right away what it was and I just wanted to scream. The telegram from the War Department actually came the next day."
   "I'm curious," I said. "If in that moment; that terrible, terrible moment; when your whole world seemed to collapse; when, as you say, you wanted to scream, did you feel abandoned as though God no longer cared about you; care about your loss; or, that you had been left alone?"
      Helen shook her head. "It was a horrible shock," she said. "I've never gotten over it, really, and, yes, I questioned why this had happened. But, no, I never felt alone; as I said, there were other women who had lost a loved one and we formed a group within the church. You see, I still had the church; still had my friends. They were good to me and the children and that gave me the courage to go on with the assurance that Jesus was there. This gave all of us courage to face an uncertain future."
     "I'm sorry for dredging up the past like this, Helen, but we're talking about your life's journey which, unfortunately, includes additional tragedy. You lost your son in another foreign conflict and, then, the loss of your daughter once more left you torn, distressed and filled with sadness. You wondered why all this had happened to you as you found yourself going from a time of great joy and happiness to a time when all was darkness and despair; these losses challenged your faith."  
      "I think for the first time in my life I was angry with God and questioned my faith. So many others go through life untouched by tragedy; why did this happen to me? Why was all that was important to me taken from me? What was I to do?"
      I shook my head. "Why me? It's a question we all ask from time to time. I've certainly asked it."
     "You?" she asked. "What happened to you?"
    "It's not important," I said. "I'm here to talk about you and your journey. It's you I'm concerned with and why I came down and knocked on your door."
     "So far, you're doing okay," she answered. "You haven't quoted scripture yet."
     I laughed. "I'll try not to," I continued. "But, now, here we are; you and me; and what I want to know is, in the midst of all the tragedy in your life; all the tears and heartache; did you ever feel abandoned by the Lord?"
     "Honestly, after the loss of my daughter, I believe that for the first time, yes, I felt as though, God had walked away," she whispered in a tearful voice. "Why me? Why my family? Yes, I felt, still feel, a tremendous emptiness inside. It's an emptiness I can't get away from and no one can  make me believe that God even cares about me. I know that sounds selfish and, while the Bible says God does care, so what? I want to know for sure that I will be reunited with my family and all that I have been given is scripture as if scripture, alone, is assuring. Well, Mr. George, I assure you, it is not."

     If you've never felt as though God has given you a mountain too steep to climb, well, I have felt it. Still, in the Spirit, I pressed on.
     "As I said, Helen, I don't know about this whole life-after-death thing, but, from where I'm sitting, it is you who has answered that question."
     "Me? What are you talking about. What answer?"
    "You answered your deepest question, just now. Let me tell you what you have said. You have said that, while you may have, at times, questioned why tragedy had happened to you, you hadn't really lost your faith. You still found comfort and love from your friends; you were still involved in the life of the church; still continued to feel the Lord's embrace; continued to feel His presence; continued to feel that you were not alone; that you had not been abandoned."
      "Yes," she replied.
     "As a people of faith, our guide is the assurance that comes from scripture. And, I can understand how those words have become empty, stale, ring hollow and no longer have meaning for you. Finding answers to life's tragedies isn't easy. Still, we are told that we will see our loved ones again if we are to have any faith at all, and you have repeatedly told me that your faith was one of the most important things in your life and that despite the tragedy and heartbreak, you really never felt alone or abandoned. Am I correct?"
     "Yes," Helen replied, tearfully. "That's correct."
     "So, my question to you is: Why should you feel that way now? Why, now, do you feel so alone? Why, if you have felt the Lord's Presence your entire life should you come to doubt that Presence, now? His Word, His assurance is all that He has given us and that assurance includes a life everlasting and the promise that our loved ones will be there. It seems reasonable to me that to stand at the door leading to life's greatest mystery, is the time of our greatest doubt, so I can understand where you are at this moment. Still, our faith, as Christians, leads us to believe that we won't go through that door alone so my question to you is, having felt that Presence throughout your lifetime, why should you doubt that in those final moments you won't continue to feel that Presence. If God hasn't abandoned you now, why should He abandoned you then? It doesn't take scripture; it doesn't take quoting chapter and verse, to understand that, but it does take faith, and your faith is all I have heard you talk about. Your faith in God's promise is what you've embraced your entire life. What we often fail to realize is that His promise doesn't really address tragedy, it only addresses faith. And, if we have lived a life of faith, the reward of an everlasting life is what awaits us."
     Helen squeezed my hand tighter. "But, we die, alone, and it's the loneliness I have felt all these years." she said.
     Once more I looked into those tired searching yest. "What if I told you that we won't be alone? As I see it, that would be such a cruel joke on life, wouldn't it? What could possibly await us if we are alone? What if I told you there will be an escort in that final moment and those whom you love will be there to greet us and with whom we shall be reunited again. That's the faith you have said you have; and it is the promise you and I share. And, not to get overly melodramatic, but I like to think of it much like the final scene in the movie, "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir." Remember that? In the end Rex Harrison comes and takes Gene Tierney's hand and says, "It's time to go." I think of that, a lot. That there will be someone, perhaps your husband, who will come one night, take our hand, and comfort you with the words, 'It's time to go.'"

     Helen held her gaze to me for the longest time as if she were ingesting the words I had just spoken. Finally, she said, "Thank you; thank you, so much, even though you really were speaking scripture." 
     "Yes," I replied. "But, there's a difference between speaking scripture and quoting scriputure. I was only asked not to quote scripture." We both chuckled at that as we sat silently for a moment,
      "Will you pray with me?" she asked.
     "Of course," I answered, and we prayed together there in Helen's hospital room before I finally excused myself and left. Two days later, I was told that Helen had passed. I'd like to think she did so comforted and assured.
     What I have related in this true event isn't anything removed from theology as we understand theology. As you read through my conversation with Helen all those years ago, you will readily see that biblical truth abounds. However, when asked to speak theologically without falling back on the crutch of scripture, we are being asked to speak God's Word from the heart, reinterpreting it and giving it new meaning. Jesus did so, without benefit of a Bible; the apostles did so without a Bible. Our faith was born and spoken among the faithful in a voice from the human heart relying upon a witness to a faith without benefit of a Bible. And, the Bible, itself, was written by men of faith who were not eyewitnesses to the events they wrote about but were convicned they were true.

     What we have in scripture is a guide to our faith, not our faith, itself. Too often the Church falls back on its abstractions of the faith rather than addressing the faith itself. When our words no longer bear any relationship to a particular people and their concerns, then it may very well be time to mourn the Christian church. We live in the 21st Century, not the 1st or the 14th or the 19th Century. Today, theology -- whether mainstream or secular -- must strive to move Christianity from the business of religion to the business of life.
   Theology seeks to apply the Word of God by looking into the hearts, the hopes, the aspirations and the Ultimate Concerns of people where they are. Modern progressive theology attempts to interpret scripture from the heart, and in a language that makes sense to modern ears. In elevating Christianity from the business of religion to the business of life, progressive theology attempts to give 21st Century answers to those 1st Century questions. 
     Is there life after death? Outside of faith, I don't know. But, in my faith I find in the message of Jesus a God who is both Father and Creator. A God who is Alive; who continues to work and create within this world -- this imperfect, unbelieving, secular world that is His Creation -- and He is doing it right now; not only in the midst of our happiness and joy, but especially in the midst of our sorrow, grief and suffering. Furthermore, He loves each us so much that He has promised not to abandon us in this life or the next. I take comfort in knowing that He didn't abandon me when I found myself faced with an urgent question of Ultimate Concern. 

     What I have learned over the years is that the Lord doesn't necessarily use the learned and ordained to do his work. In this instance, He chose me, a young, unordained student-minister as the one to knock on Helen's door (Rev. 3:20) in what might be the last chance to ease her pain. God gives us the courage to walk into the fire rather than just sign the guest book and leave?