This was my final Introduction to Preaching sermon, an occasional service sermon based on 1 Peter 1:3-9. In my case, a funeral sermon, preached as if I had delivered the homily for a 2-year-old girl I wrote about, many years ago, who died of leukemia. Rest in Peace, Chelsea.
We gather here today, filled with a mix of emotions. Mostly sadness and a collective community grief, for Bob and Kim and their families and friends. We had hoped things would turn out differently.
• We had hoped that Chelsea’s leukemia would have stayed in remission.
• We had hoped that the bone-marrow transplant would have taken.
• We had hoped that this beautiful, blonde-haired toddler would not have left us so soon.
Perhaps you have other emotions, too. The disbelief that Chelsea is really gone, that so many dreams for her future will never transpire. That mix of pain, confusion and anger that wells up when we try to understand why little children get cancer or die under tragic circumstances. The wonder of this family’s faith, that they asked that today be a celebration – a celebration of the birth of their daughter into everlasting life, rejoicing in the midst of their mourning.
No words or ritual today are going to remove or resolve the many conflicting emotions present within us. And I want to reassure you – all of these emotions are OK. Not only OK, but holy as an outcome of our love for one another. Our sadness, our pain, our anger, our questions, and even the joy and laughter when it bursts through the others. Grief is a strange visitor: quick to arrive, and oh, so VERY slow to leave. The best any of us can do is capture the communal longing, the breadth of concern for the Hodous family, and share in the hope we have in the good news of Jesus Christ.
There’s a reason that this text, read on many Easter mornings, is also read at memorial services. All of our emotions stemming from the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ are lifted up in this passage -- the suffering, the testing, mixed with our joy in our daily life together and eternal life to come. This letter was written to encourage groups of new believers as they dealt with trials and persecution in their communities in the latter part of the first century.
“In this you (not just you, but ‘y’all,’ the entire community) rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials…”
Trials. We’ve all read about the trials this family has been through, the trips to Phoenix Children’s Hospital for the diagnosis, the two times remission was achieved and then slipped away, the encouragement that Ryan’s bone marrow was a match, and the trip to the Mayo Clinic. Faith communities all over the Verde Valley prayed for Chelsea’s healing continuously for 14 months.
Never once did I hear Bob or Kim utter a “Why, us?” or “Where is God in this?” Bob and Kim testified that God was right beside them and their daughter every minute of her illness. Our God who knew the suffering of a child, who felt Jesus’ tears and pain, who shuddered at the cruelty of Jesus’ crucifixion. That same God was present at Chelsea’s birth, was in the room during every test and procedure, and was right beside them as Chelsea drew her final breath. And God is present with us now, helping us to deal with the paradox of grief at Chelsea’s death and rejoicing at her homecoming with Jesus.
None of us in this room has been face to face with Jesus. We have only our beliefs and our imagination of what that day will look like. Yet, by turning Chelsea’s memorial today into a brightly colored celebration of her birth into new life, they have modeled a Living Hope, a trust that the resurrection of Jesus Christ is the foretelling of the new life Chelsea and all of us are promised.
So, while our hearts are broken today as we gather with this family, we can share that Living Hope. And today, or perhaps in the days ahead, God’s Spirit will help guide us all through the mourning to joy in the hope we share in Jesus Christ. Or as today’s reading concludes: “Although you have not seen Jesus, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” Amen.
Showing posts with label LSTC Preaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label LSTC Preaching. Show all posts
Monday, August 4, 2025
Family Dynamics, LSTC Preaching, November 8, 2021
My Hebrew Bible text sermon for LSTC Introduction to Preaching class, based on the text Genesis 28:10-19a, Jacob's Dream.
The sun was going down, and Jacob needed to decide – hike on for a mile or so more tonight, or take refuge here for the night, in Luz, a little less rocky place to camp. He decides to call it a day – he’s already covered nearly 50 miles, and he has a clear view of the surrounding area. And his body and feet are screaming – he’s not used to this kind of travel. Besides, it will give him some time to think.
Talk about unexpected changes in life over the past few months, Jacob thinks, as he clears a few rocks from the place where he has decided to sleep. First, his dad, Isaac, took a turn for the worse. Already blind, Isaac’s health had been declining. He should have let his brother Esau have the blessing. He already tricked him out of the birthright, the double inheritance due the oldest son. But it wasn’t fair – they were born within minutes. It had burned at Jacob his entire life. And when he saw the chance to make Esau bargain it away, for a meal, no less, he took it.
Then when Esau went out to kill some game to make his dad his favorite meal for the blessing, his mom helped him trick Isaac into thinking he was Esau and blessing him instead. Esau nearly killed him, but his parents were having none of that. Isaac decided to send him to live in Haran, to work with his Uncle Laban, find a wife, and settle down. His mother, Rebekah was upset, but had no say in the matter. Esau wasn’t speaking to him, and Isaac – he was so angry and disappointed with him. It almost was a relief to get on the road, away from eyes that no longer held any love for him.
He ate some of the bread and some of the meat Rebekah sent. Not too much – it would have to last. No telling when he would get more. Esau would have had no trouble with this trek. He probably would have relished weeks in the wild, living off the land. I probably will never see him again, Jacob thought. He laid his pack next to him, put his head on a flat rock, and tried to sleep.
Every time I read this part of Genesis, I think, what a dysfunctional family! Fighting brothers. Parents choosing favorites. A wife playing her husband. A father sending his son away. This is the family out of which the family of God will grow? And then, immediately, it makes me realize that all of us are dysfunctional people. We don’t have it all together. We have conflicts. We get into family spats. We aren’t perfect parents or kids. We are all Isaacs, Rebekahs, Esaus, and Jacobs.
We think we’re not like them. We try to put on our best masks, especially at family gatherings. But we like one parent better than another, or struggle to get along with either of them. There is history, family dynamics, and geography.
In my family, there is the computer nerd, the black sheep, the woman with all the homemaking skills and the one with none, etc. We have our parents’ golden wedding anniversary coming up, and one brother may skip the event. Certainly, two nieces won’t be there. Yes, we can totally relate to Jacob’s story.
I imagine you too can relate to Jacob’s situation. Even if you love your parents, have the most wonderful siblings in the world, or perhaps no siblings at all, you have family dynamics. You may have some history with one of your parents. You may feel pressure to live up to some unattainable ideal, or your parents have placed no expectations on you at all. Even if you’ve lost one or both parents, there are memories or guilt or anger that stems from those situations. No family is immune from the complexities of family challenges.
But returning to Jacob’s situation, it is certainly obvious that Jacob is feeling the separation from his own family. However, now out on the road, leaving this family of promise, leaving behind Isaac and Rebekah and God’s promise to them that they would be central to God’s covenant, you have to believe that Jacob must feel equally abandoned by God. How on earth could anything come of his exile to live in Haran fulfill God’s promise of bringing about a new people of God’s own, a family as numerous as the stars. He may have looked up at the sky, looked back toward Beer-Sheba, and thought, “What a mess I’ve made of God’s whole plan” as he drifted off to sleep.
And this is where Jacob starts to dream. He imagines this ladder, or perhaps a staircase, depending on your translation. Bible scholar, our own Dr. Esther Menn, talks about the Ziggurat, a mud-brick mountain, unifying heaven and earth. Jacob pictures this structure and sees angels ascending and descending it. And while Jacob doesn’t climb the ladder, depending on your translation, God is either at the top of this structure, or has descended it, to be right beside Jacob where he sleeps.
God assures Jacob that he has not abandoned him or the covenant. In fact, God is right here with Jacob, on the journey, and Jacob – schemer, usurper, deceptive one – still is very much a part of God’s plan. He will go to Haran. He will be part of that great nation. And in a piece of this passage left out of the pericope, Jacob catches hold of that hope, and vows that since God is with him, he will one day return and heal the rift between him and his family.
It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it, that God has included Jacob in this future that God has been planning? Schemes and dysfunction, deceit, and exile. There’s none of Abraham’s leaving of his homeland to follow God’s will for his future. None of Isaac’s belief in God so strong that he would consider sacrificing this promised child. No, the story of Jacob is very different than his father or grandfather’s story. No wonder that Jacob was surprised by God, and God’s continuing presence in his life and future. No wonder that Jacob was both afraid and awed by this dream. No wonder that Jacob vows to go forward with renewed energy toward an unknown future, but somehow one that God will use to bring about the great nation. No wonder Jacob can vow to return to his father’s house and restore the peace someday.
We really don’t think of the Hebrew scriptures as being stories of grace, do we? We see grace in the gospels, in the epistles. We see more stories of God’s anger and wrath and judgment in the Hebrew scriptures. It is no wonder that some preachers don’t preach from the Old Testament, and even make a division between the God before the incarnation and the God that Jesus wanted us to know. This is the God of grace, God of forgiveness, the God of love.
But there aren’t two Gods. God is God, yesterday and today. The God of Abraham is the God of Isaac is the God of Jacob. And the God of Jesus and the God of us. We have moments of failure and success. We have moments where God feels distant, and God feels there right beside us. We have our own moments where we totally blow it and moments where we extend grace.
In Jacob, we see all of God’s people, including us. We can give ourselves the compassion and grace that maybe we wouldn’t be inclined to give ourselves otherwise. And we can go forward into God’s promise, knowing securely that God chooses us – imperfect us – to use our gifts and share God’s message of love and grace in our own strange, unpredictable, and uniquely challenging circumstances. Amen.
The sun was going down, and Jacob needed to decide – hike on for a mile or so more tonight, or take refuge here for the night, in Luz, a little less rocky place to camp. He decides to call it a day – he’s already covered nearly 50 miles, and he has a clear view of the surrounding area. And his body and feet are screaming – he’s not used to this kind of travel. Besides, it will give him some time to think.
Talk about unexpected changes in life over the past few months, Jacob thinks, as he clears a few rocks from the place where he has decided to sleep. First, his dad, Isaac, took a turn for the worse. Already blind, Isaac’s health had been declining. He should have let his brother Esau have the blessing. He already tricked him out of the birthright, the double inheritance due the oldest son. But it wasn’t fair – they were born within minutes. It had burned at Jacob his entire life. And when he saw the chance to make Esau bargain it away, for a meal, no less, he took it.
Then when Esau went out to kill some game to make his dad his favorite meal for the blessing, his mom helped him trick Isaac into thinking he was Esau and blessing him instead. Esau nearly killed him, but his parents were having none of that. Isaac decided to send him to live in Haran, to work with his Uncle Laban, find a wife, and settle down. His mother, Rebekah was upset, but had no say in the matter. Esau wasn’t speaking to him, and Isaac – he was so angry and disappointed with him. It almost was a relief to get on the road, away from eyes that no longer held any love for him.
He ate some of the bread and some of the meat Rebekah sent. Not too much – it would have to last. No telling when he would get more. Esau would have had no trouble with this trek. He probably would have relished weeks in the wild, living off the land. I probably will never see him again, Jacob thought. He laid his pack next to him, put his head on a flat rock, and tried to sleep.
Every time I read this part of Genesis, I think, what a dysfunctional family! Fighting brothers. Parents choosing favorites. A wife playing her husband. A father sending his son away. This is the family out of which the family of God will grow? And then, immediately, it makes me realize that all of us are dysfunctional people. We don’t have it all together. We have conflicts. We get into family spats. We aren’t perfect parents or kids. We are all Isaacs, Rebekahs, Esaus, and Jacobs.
We think we’re not like them. We try to put on our best masks, especially at family gatherings. But we like one parent better than another, or struggle to get along with either of them. There is history, family dynamics, and geography.
In my family, there is the computer nerd, the black sheep, the woman with all the homemaking skills and the one with none, etc. We have our parents’ golden wedding anniversary coming up, and one brother may skip the event. Certainly, two nieces won’t be there. Yes, we can totally relate to Jacob’s story.
I imagine you too can relate to Jacob’s situation. Even if you love your parents, have the most wonderful siblings in the world, or perhaps no siblings at all, you have family dynamics. You may have some history with one of your parents. You may feel pressure to live up to some unattainable ideal, or your parents have placed no expectations on you at all. Even if you’ve lost one or both parents, there are memories or guilt or anger that stems from those situations. No family is immune from the complexities of family challenges.
But returning to Jacob’s situation, it is certainly obvious that Jacob is feeling the separation from his own family. However, now out on the road, leaving this family of promise, leaving behind Isaac and Rebekah and God’s promise to them that they would be central to God’s covenant, you have to believe that Jacob must feel equally abandoned by God. How on earth could anything come of his exile to live in Haran fulfill God’s promise of bringing about a new people of God’s own, a family as numerous as the stars. He may have looked up at the sky, looked back toward Beer-Sheba, and thought, “What a mess I’ve made of God’s whole plan” as he drifted off to sleep.
And this is where Jacob starts to dream. He imagines this ladder, or perhaps a staircase, depending on your translation. Bible scholar, our own Dr. Esther Menn, talks about the Ziggurat, a mud-brick mountain, unifying heaven and earth. Jacob pictures this structure and sees angels ascending and descending it. And while Jacob doesn’t climb the ladder, depending on your translation, God is either at the top of this structure, or has descended it, to be right beside Jacob where he sleeps.
God assures Jacob that he has not abandoned him or the covenant. In fact, God is right here with Jacob, on the journey, and Jacob – schemer, usurper, deceptive one – still is very much a part of God’s plan. He will go to Haran. He will be part of that great nation. And in a piece of this passage left out of the pericope, Jacob catches hold of that hope, and vows that since God is with him, he will one day return and heal the rift between him and his family.
It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it, that God has included Jacob in this future that God has been planning? Schemes and dysfunction, deceit, and exile. There’s none of Abraham’s leaving of his homeland to follow God’s will for his future. None of Isaac’s belief in God so strong that he would consider sacrificing this promised child. No, the story of Jacob is very different than his father or grandfather’s story. No wonder that Jacob was surprised by God, and God’s continuing presence in his life and future. No wonder that Jacob was both afraid and awed by this dream. No wonder that Jacob vows to go forward with renewed energy toward an unknown future, but somehow one that God will use to bring about the great nation. No wonder Jacob can vow to return to his father’s house and restore the peace someday.
We really don’t think of the Hebrew scriptures as being stories of grace, do we? We see grace in the gospels, in the epistles. We see more stories of God’s anger and wrath and judgment in the Hebrew scriptures. It is no wonder that some preachers don’t preach from the Old Testament, and even make a division between the God before the incarnation and the God that Jesus wanted us to know. This is the God of grace, God of forgiveness, the God of love.
But there aren’t two Gods. God is God, yesterday and today. The God of Abraham is the God of Isaac is the God of Jacob. And the God of Jesus and the God of us. We have moments of failure and success. We have moments where God feels distant, and God feels there right beside us. We have our own moments where we totally blow it and moments where we extend grace.
In Jacob, we see all of God’s people, including us. We can give ourselves the compassion and grace that maybe we wouldn’t be inclined to give ourselves otherwise. And we can go forward into God’s promise, knowing securely that God chooses us – imperfect us – to use our gifts and share God’s message of love and grace in our own strange, unpredictable, and uniquely challenging circumstances. Amen.
Freed From ... Freed For, LSTC Preaching, October 18, 2021
My epistle sermon for my LSTC Introduction to Preaching class. Based on the Transfiguration Year C epistle text, 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2.
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” The good news doesn’t get much better than this. Living in relationship with God, through Jesus, isn’t a burden or somber sentence, but a joyful process of becoming the people God created us to be.
Taken out of context, however, or without a clear sense of the responsibility that goes with that freedom, our freedom becomes a double-edged sword, hurting us and the name of the One we say we follow.
The disciple Paul, writing to the troubled church at Corinth yet again in today’s second reading, needed to provide some context for life together. Because of Jesus, Christians no longer were bound by the law, the rules that led to death, because no one could be without sin. Instead, they were set free to live in relationship with God through Christ, a new covenant, a promise that leads to life everlasting for followers of Jesus.
Like those early Christians in Corinth, we are set free to live lives that demonstrate that new relationship. We are freed from death, freed for transformation, and freed for lives that bear the fruit of our life in the family of God. Let me touch on each of these area briefly, starting with being freed from death.
“Why are so many Christians such unhappy people?” a Christian friend asked rhetorically. She had run afoul of one such Christian, a man with a perpetual scowl and gloomy disposition, forever finding fault.
We’ve all known people like him, people who have turned this new life in Christ into death once more. In many ways, we American Christians come from a long line of Death Preservers, going back to the Puritans, who came to America for religious freedom, but covered freedom in Christ with new laws and taboos. It’s almost as if these believers see freedom in Christ as a gift to hide away, not something they should open and enjoy in the here and now. “This is the way we’ve always done it” is their watch word. They suck the air out of the room wherever creative ideas and hopeful energy arise.
Encouragement to “lighten up” brings renewed zeal for control. They rarely leave but become the minority votes on councils and congregation meetings. They are the first ones to gleefully shout “I told you so,” when a new initiative fails. Set free? It’s hard to see the Spirit behind that frowning façade, but occasionally, a ray of light escapes when they find a ministry that matches their passion. Recognizing when it happens and building on it sets them free.
So, we are freed from death by our new life in Christ, but as part of that new life, we are freed for transformation. Paul explains to the believers at Corinth that those in Christ “are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another, for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.”
This is particularly challenging for cradle Lutherans, the people who have known from the time they were old enough to run up for a children’s sermon, that the answer always was JESUS, and everything they might face in life is covered in a Bible story or Luther’s Small Catechism. They’ve heard it all before: “this is most certainly true.”
Sometimes, people are hungry for knowledge, eager to have their questions answered. They turn their faces to let the glory of the Lord work on them. Others see little reason for transformation, because they think they’ve seen it all, heard it all, and done it all.
I remember a couple of long-time members of my congregation, recruited as Confirmation mentors, adults paired with a young person through the two-year program. Thinking they were there to help Johnny or Suzie memorize Bible passages and the Creed, they jumped in wholeheartedly, and became the ones transformed by today’s teens and their challenging questions about how faith applies to their lives in the 21st Century. The teens gave them no passes on pat answers for why God allows tragedy or whether God has a plan for their lives. And in writing a faith story with their teen, they turned to the Lord, and found their minds opened and softened to hear the Word speak to them anew. Once we stop asking questions and growing, our faith is bound. Transformation is the key that sets God’s people free.
Paired with this transformation, our lives should shine with the glory of our changing image. All of us are moving toward that same perfect image, mirrored differently in each one of us through our own abilities and spiritual gifts. The transformation of a servant heart happens equally to the person who sings in the choir, as the person who teaches Sunday School, as the person who helps fix up the church landscaping.
The trouble starts when an overexuberant volunteer coordinator, church staff member, (or forbid it, Lord,) a PASTOR, tries too hard to force someone to run toward this changing image, when the person is only ready to gaze at the possibilities or take baby steps. The church needs to recognize those who are sitting on the back wall, as a friend of mine did when she came back to church after leaving church for two decades, and not push them back out the door. We need to let people discover their own gifts and passions in the body of Christ, and not force them to be a mouth, when they are suited to be a heart.
After several invitations, a friend of mine visited our church and became a regular. She is a former fundie, attending non-denominational and Baptist churches at various points in her life. Lutheran liturgy and rites were mysteries to her. She knew a handful of people, but had come to a couple of Bible studies, and was gently being transformed by grace, a pretty foreign construct for her. Introverted and shy, prayer and social-justice work were two of her loves. She started attending our contemporary service, as she preferred the music to the traditional hymns that spoke to my heart. Months later, she joined the church. Eager to understand Lutheran history and theology, she committed to the two-year Diakonia program. That blew me away.
However, as if sensing fresh meat, our interim pastor cornered her one day and talked her into taking over the altar guild coordinator vacancy. This is perfect, the pastor claimed, as it would allow her to meet many new members and learn why we set up things the way we did.
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” The good news doesn’t get much better than this. Living in relationship with God, through Jesus, isn’t a burden or somber sentence, but a joyful process of becoming the people God created us to be.
Taken out of context, however, or without a clear sense of the responsibility that goes with that freedom, our freedom becomes a double-edged sword, hurting us and the name of the One we say we follow.
The disciple Paul, writing to the troubled church at Corinth yet again in today’s second reading, needed to provide some context for life together. Because of Jesus, Christians no longer were bound by the law, the rules that led to death, because no one could be without sin. Instead, they were set free to live in relationship with God through Christ, a new covenant, a promise that leads to life everlasting for followers of Jesus.
Like those early Christians in Corinth, we are set free to live lives that demonstrate that new relationship. We are freed from death, freed for transformation, and freed for lives that bear the fruit of our life in the family of God. Let me touch on each of these area briefly, starting with being freed from death.
“Why are so many Christians such unhappy people?” a Christian friend asked rhetorically. She had run afoul of one such Christian, a man with a perpetual scowl and gloomy disposition, forever finding fault.
We’ve all known people like him, people who have turned this new life in Christ into death once more. In many ways, we American Christians come from a long line of Death Preservers, going back to the Puritans, who came to America for religious freedom, but covered freedom in Christ with new laws and taboos. It’s almost as if these believers see freedom in Christ as a gift to hide away, not something they should open and enjoy in the here and now. “This is the way we’ve always done it” is their watch word. They suck the air out of the room wherever creative ideas and hopeful energy arise.
Encouragement to “lighten up” brings renewed zeal for control. They rarely leave but become the minority votes on councils and congregation meetings. They are the first ones to gleefully shout “I told you so,” when a new initiative fails. Set free? It’s hard to see the Spirit behind that frowning façade, but occasionally, a ray of light escapes when they find a ministry that matches their passion. Recognizing when it happens and building on it sets them free.
So, we are freed from death by our new life in Christ, but as part of that new life, we are freed for transformation. Paul explains to the believers at Corinth that those in Christ “are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another, for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.”
This is particularly challenging for cradle Lutherans, the people who have known from the time they were old enough to run up for a children’s sermon, that the answer always was JESUS, and everything they might face in life is covered in a Bible story or Luther’s Small Catechism. They’ve heard it all before: “this is most certainly true.”
Sometimes, people are hungry for knowledge, eager to have their questions answered. They turn their faces to let the glory of the Lord work on them. Others see little reason for transformation, because they think they’ve seen it all, heard it all, and done it all.
I remember a couple of long-time members of my congregation, recruited as Confirmation mentors, adults paired with a young person through the two-year program. Thinking they were there to help Johnny or Suzie memorize Bible passages and the Creed, they jumped in wholeheartedly, and became the ones transformed by today’s teens and their challenging questions about how faith applies to their lives in the 21st Century. The teens gave them no passes on pat answers for why God allows tragedy or whether God has a plan for their lives. And in writing a faith story with their teen, they turned to the Lord, and found their minds opened and softened to hear the Word speak to them anew. Once we stop asking questions and growing, our faith is bound. Transformation is the key that sets God’s people free.
Paired with this transformation, our lives should shine with the glory of our changing image. All of us are moving toward that same perfect image, mirrored differently in each one of us through our own abilities and spiritual gifts. The transformation of a servant heart happens equally to the person who sings in the choir, as the person who teaches Sunday School, as the person who helps fix up the church landscaping.
The trouble starts when an overexuberant volunteer coordinator, church staff member, (or forbid it, Lord,) a PASTOR, tries too hard to force someone to run toward this changing image, when the person is only ready to gaze at the possibilities or take baby steps. The church needs to recognize those who are sitting on the back wall, as a friend of mine did when she came back to church after leaving church for two decades, and not push them back out the door. We need to let people discover their own gifts and passions in the body of Christ, and not force them to be a mouth, when they are suited to be a heart.
After several invitations, a friend of mine visited our church and became a regular. She is a former fundie, attending non-denominational and Baptist churches at various points in her life. Lutheran liturgy and rites were mysteries to her. She knew a handful of people, but had come to a couple of Bible studies, and was gently being transformed by grace, a pretty foreign construct for her. Introverted and shy, prayer and social-justice work were two of her loves. She started attending our contemporary service, as she preferred the music to the traditional hymns that spoke to my heart. Months later, she joined the church. Eager to understand Lutheran history and theology, she committed to the two-year Diakonia program. That blew me away.
However, as if sensing fresh meat, our interim pastor cornered her one day and talked her into taking over the altar guild coordinator vacancy. This is perfect, the pastor claimed, as it would allow her to meet many new members and learn why we set up things the way we did.
If ever there was a mismatch for a church role, this was it. Gentle and private, she hated calling people and talking them into scheduling their altar guild service. She had no idea about colors and seasons of the church year, but she was expected to teach others. Shy, she was supposed to recruit new members for the team. She was a heart being asked to be a mouth, and it wasn’t working. She managed for four months, then broke down. I had to talk her into resigning that role for her own peace of mind.
She originally gave them a month’s notice, but that stretched out to two, then three months, as the church did not fill the vacancy. Finally, she said “I’m done!” Her gifts for prayer and social justice are just not cultivated in my congregation. Frustrated, during the pandemic, she started viewing the local UCC’s worship, and went to talk to that pastor. It was a bittersweet parting, as I hated to see her leave, but knew she would be a better fit there. We are freed, in Christ, to be part of the body of Christ with our own special image of God, and the gifts God prepared us to use.
My friends, called as future leaders in the church, we have some powerful and weighty responsibilities in the Body of Christ. We are to build up the body, lead by word and example, preach and teach the Word of God, and discern and prepare other leaders for service in the Church.
As you move forward in MIC, internships and first calls, take with you these instructions from Paul to a first-century group of believers in Corinth, words that echo truth for the Church today. Don’t add more Law to Christ’s Church than is necessary. Stay free. The way of the Law leads to death, but we are set free by the new covenant, the new relationship with God in Christ. This IS the good news that leads to life: for ourselves, our ministries, and the whole people of God. Amen.
My friends, called as future leaders in the church, we have some powerful and weighty responsibilities in the Body of Christ. We are to build up the body, lead by word and example, preach and teach the Word of God, and discern and prepare other leaders for service in the Church.
As you move forward in MIC, internships and first calls, take with you these instructions from Paul to a first-century group of believers in Corinth, words that echo truth for the Church today. Don’t add more Law to Christ’s Church than is necessary. Stay free. The way of the Law leads to death, but we are set free by the new covenant, the new relationship with God in Christ. This IS the good news that leads to life: for ourselves, our ministries, and the whole people of God. Amen.
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