Pops Got Skills Romans 8:22-27, Acts 2:1-21

Some say that day of Pentecost recorded by Luke in The Acts of the Apostles
was the birthday of the Church.
I don’t buy it.
I think the birthday of the church was the day a human being first captured fire;
the first time some man or woman took a flame from a lightening strike
and used it to kindle a campfire
and invited others to gather around its heat and light.

Think of all that developed from that first campfire circle:
human imagination expressed through story and song,
governing councils that gave structure to civilization,
the first cooking classes!
That first fire circle became a focal point for life together
and life together is the heart of this entity we call “church.”

I admit, this is a pretty loose definition of “church,”
people gathered around a fire circle,
drawn there by a common need for light, for warmth, for community.
Pope Benedict surely wouldn’t accept it.
For him, church is strictly defined by apostolic succession –
the ability to trace ones origins back to the original apostles.

John Calvin, the chief reformer who laid the groundwork for Presbyterians,
also had his working definition of “church.”
He said that the church can be found “anywhere the word of God is faithfully preached
and the sacraments are rightly administered.”
That seems pretty simple until you realize that the words “faithfully” and “rightly”
leave a whole lot of room for interpretation
and a whole lot of room for internal bickering.

Go back to the very earliest churches.
They had at least one standard by which they identified a “church.”
In Paul’s letters a church is identified as any group where those gathered
acknowledge that Jesus is Lord.

Apostolic succession, word and sacraments, Jesus is Lord –
it’s not unreasonable to have some common standard
that serves to identify and set apart a group of believers;
some common trait to which we can point and say, “This is who we are,”
“This is what we mean when we say church.”

The impulse to organize is inborn in each of us.
The trouble is that part of our impulse to organize is our impulse to exclude;
an eagerness we have to draw lines and build walls,
the tendency to want to focus on who we are NOT
instead of who we ARE,
the tendency to forget that all any of us really want
is to satisfy that common hunger for light, for warmth, for community.

In chapter one of Luke’s account of the acts of the apostles
we find a very orderly process going on as the remaining eleven of Jesus’ twelve
choose a successor to replace Judas Iscariot, the betrayer.
but chapter two is anything but orderly.

Chapter two begins on the day of Pentecost, one of three annual festivals in Jerusalem. Pilgrims from all over the Middle East have come to Jerusalem to celebrate
the 50th day after the Passover and the consecration of the harvest.
It’s a tongue-tangling hodgepodge of nationalities in the city;
a regular United Nations summer camp,
and the disciples, stir crazy from waiting
for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit that Jesus had promised
are hanging out in some seedy hotel lounge drinking bad coffee and eating day old danishes.

Suddenly a breeze kicks up, scattering paper cups and napkins.
Matthew has to clamp down on his toupee to keep it from blowing off.
“Who turned the fan on,” Andrew shouts.
He has to shout because the roar of the wind is deafening
and the air is electrified making their hair stand on end.
Witnesses later would describe it
as though tongues of flame rested on each disciples head.
All they knew was that they saw light, and felt warmth, and experienced community.

They experienced community through the gift of sacred speech.
A crowd gathered and in that alphabet soup of nationalities represented
each reported being able to understand what the disciples were telling them –
stories of God’s deeds of power told in their own language
with a Galilean accent.

At some point the wind died down and the story-telling stopped
and, like you always do when something incredible happens,
you grab whoever’s closest and you begin comparing experiences.
Then you grab your cell phone and dial up whoever’s on your “Friends and Family” plan
and say, “You’ll never believe what just happened.”
And, sure enough, someone won’t believe it.
They’ll say something snide or catty like,
“Sounds like somebody’s been hittin’ the sauce a LITTLE early…”
Because, no matter what, some people just have to be skeptics.

That’s Peter’s cue.
Whatever you may have thought of Peter as the lights dimmed on the crucifixion
and he sat shivering in the dark, scared out of his wits
devastated by his triple denial of Jesus –
whatever you may have thought of THAT Peter,
you’ve got to realize that as Luke begins the story of Acts
the post-resurrection Peter is a changed man.
In fact, I would say that the rehabilitation of Peter in the gospel story
is one of the most powerful indicators of resurrection we have.

Peter emerges as the leader of the twelve
and on their behalf he addresses those gathered that day.
He begins his sermon with words from the prophet Joel,
words his audience is well familiar with.
“In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.”

Peter may truly have believed that their experience marked
the beginning of an end that would come quickly,
an end that would come, in Joel’s words, with “blood, and fire, and smoky mist.”
In hindsight we understand that the gift of the Holy Spirit that day
was a sign, not of the end, but of the beginning of a new reality.

Until that point, the disciples couldn’t be sure
that Jesus’ life among them was not just an anomaly,
a holy blip on the radar screen that would last only as long
as they could, by their own efforts, keep his memory alive.
In other words, not very long.
Even their experience of the Resurrected Lord, as powerful as that was for them,
only had power for as long as they could keep it going.

But the gift of the Holy Spirit that day brought with it the assurance
that the toehold Jesus had gained for God’s realm on earth
was only the beginning of an everlasting shift of power.
Until then they could only hope that God was in control.
After that day, however, there was no question.
It’s not that the sun shown any brighter or people got nicer.
But with the Holy Spirit on the loose they could be assured
that no matter how menacing the forces of violence and fear and division loomed,
those forces were, in the end, no match
for the light, warmth, and community that are hallmarks of the Spirit.

I’ve mentioned this already, but please indulge me.
A couple of weeks ago I played a simple little pickup game of basketball
while visiting family in Louisville, KY.
Will and I were in a park shooting baskets when three high school-aged young men
came by and asked if they could shoot, too.
Then they asked if I wanted to play two-on-two.

I was reluctant to play because I had just been through physical therapy
to regain the full range of motion in my shoulders.
Up until then I hadn’t even been ABLE to play basketball for a long time.
I didn’t know if my body would still recognize the mental commands of basketball.
I was reluctant also because I realized I was older than the three of them put together -
them and their springy legs and flexible arms.

Thank goodness it was only a half-court game!
I was paired with the best of the three and I was happy for him to carry the offense.
As we played an African-American man in his late 30’s came up
leading two toddlers by the hands.
The three of them stopped to watch the four of us play.
When I would crouch in a defensive stance the father would yell,
“Uh oh! Pops is puttin’ on the defense!”
When I would jump for a rebound he would yell,
“Pops is goin’ up for that ball!”
And then once – once – when I took a pass, made a head fake,
and somehow, thank you JESUS, managed to lay the ball in the basket
without turning my ankle or breaking a hip,
the father of two yelled out, “Pop’s got skills!” “Pop’s got skills!”

It feels kind of silly talking about it now. But you have no idea how good that felt.
Or maybe you do. The sun shining. Sweat tricking down my back.
having somebody recognize my skills, “Pops” or no “Pops.”
That’s the gift of Pentecost, the gift of the Spirit doing its work.
When you’re happy to be alive in the company of fellow human beings;
feeling connected, with barriers of age and race broken down.
You know what Paul was talking about when he says that the whole creation
waits with eager anticipation,
GROANING in anticipation as we wait for adoption, for redemption,
for that time when it won’t be an occasional thing, a once-in-awhile kind of thing,
but a daily, hourly, moment by moment feeling
of Light. of Warmth. of Community. Church.

Like Trees Psalm 1, John 17:6-19

I’m thinking of a poem that, because of its simple rhyme and meter,
makes it a favorite target for parody and ridicule.
But even so, I would bet it’s one of the most well-known and even beloved poems
in the English language.
The title is “Trees,” and it was written by Joyce Kilmer back in the early 20th century.
I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day, and lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear a nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain; who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.

It appears that the psalmist shares Kilmer’s reverence for trees,
using a tree in the very first psalm as a metaphor for a well-lived life.
Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
or sit in the seat of scoffers.
But their delight is the law of the Lord,
and on his law they meditate day and night.
They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season
and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper.

When I think of trees I think of what I learned about trees in high school biology -
how each tree is a living system of roots and trunk and limbs and leaves.
how water is absorbed by the roots and carried up by the xylem tissue to the leaves.
And how sunlight and water combine in the leaves in a process called photosynthesis
to create nutrients that the phloem tissue then carries back down to the roots.
I remember how vital trees are to a healthy environment,
absorbing carbon dioxide from the air and giving off oxygen for us to breathe.
I remember how the roots of trees check erosion
and how the fruit of trees serve as food
and when the leaves and fruit fall to the ground,
it all decomposes into more nutrients that keep the cycle going.

Trees have been central to Biblical storytelling all the way back to the Tree of Life
in the Genesis story of the Garden of Eden.
So, when the psalmist uses a tree as a metaphor for a life well-lived,
it is with deep reverence and clear intent.
And the well-lived life is not judged by some arbitrary standard,
but by the standards of the Torah, the law,
the guidelines for living that are the gift of a gracious, life-giving God.

It’s no accident that the first psalm in the psalmist’s collection
is a psalm in praise of the Torah, the law of God.
The ancient Hebrews saw God’s hand in the created order of things
and believed that God had made the world for the benefit of human kind.
The Torah, the law, was the blueprint God provided
for getting the most out of God’s good gift.


There’s nothing mysterious or complicated about it.
Align yourself with God’s pattern and you will bear fruit.
Ignore God’s pattern and you will wither and die.
Plant yourself beside the streams of God’s mercy and
nothing will be able to move you.
Go your own way and, like chaff, you will dry up and blow away.

I hope that you have had someone in your life
who has provided for you a living example of what the psalmist is talking about;
someone with deep roots and expansive branches.
Some of you come from farm families.
Farmers get it.
Farmers understand that a fruitful, satisfying life is not a quick or a casual proposition
but that it requires daily discipline and a long-term investment.
Maybe you grew up on a farm and have an image of a parent or a grandparent,
hands calloused, face creased, pulling on boots before dawn
to start a new day.
When you were young you may have thought them hopelessly out of step with the world,
but now you understand that they just measured their step
by a more ancient, eternal beat.

It’s not just farmers who get it.
Maybe you have a friend who has lived years with chronic illness,
or a family in these tough economic times
who have had the rug pulled out from under them.
These people have every reason to complain,
but instead they see their situation as a learning experience
and somehow, with God’s help, find the strength to carry on.
Often these are the very people in our lives
who seem most content and fulfilled,
those who have learned to value relationships
and see beauty in the small things.

The testimony of the psalmist is that there is a design to life.
There is a basic blueprint that gives our lives constancy and security;
a blueprint we ignore at our peril.
God’s law is given as our guide,
it is our standard.
But let’s face it, we have problems with the concept of God’s law.

For one thing, we have this idea that God’s Law is an Old Testament concept
and that God’s grace, shown to us in Jesus, makes the law obsolete.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Jesus himself said, “I have come not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.”
The problem Jesus faced was that God’s chosen ones had turned things upside down.
They had begun to see the law as a fence instead of a ladder;
as a tedious list of all that is forbidden rather than as the joyful expression
of all that is good and honorable and sacred.
Jesus came to remind us that the law is not the pin that bursts our bubble
but the scaffolding that gives our lives their strength and form.

The other problem we have with the concept of God’s law
is the temptation we ourselves have to use God’s law as a bludgeon,
our own convenient weapon against those things that scare us.
For example, scared of my own personal impulses and appetites
I use the law to make everyone else’s life as sterile and colorless as my own.
Scared that God might love someone else more than me
I use the law to create a narrow definition of who God finds acceptable,
a definition that, not surprisingly, fits only me.

We have this habit of looking at God’s law only in terms of what it prohibits.
Instead we should focus on what it allows.
It allows us to be honest instead of deceitful.
It allows us to be merciful instead of domineering.
It allows us to show hospitality to the stranger
instead of building the fence even higher.
Most of all,
God’s law allows us to have a vision of ourselves that is fully integrated,
heart, body, mind and spirit.
Like a tree whose trunk is supported with deep roots and nourished by green leaves, God’s law guides us to the place where our actions match our words
and our commitment is steadfast
and our faith is unwavering.

Eugene Peterson, a pastor and Christian author,
gets at the heart of an integrated life intertwined in God’s law
in a book he wrote called, “A Long Obedience in the Same Direction”1
In his book, Peterson makes the distinction between religious “tourists” on the one hand
and Christian “disciples” on the other.
“Tourists,” he writes, “understand religion as a visit to an attractive site
when they have sufficient leisure time to make the trip.”
They don’t want mundane details, just the high points,
and they’ll try anything – until something else comes along.

But disciples understand that faith is a commitment,
an apprenticeship to the Master, Jesus Christ.
Discipleship is a life-long learning process,
not where we accumulate information about God,
but where we learn skills of faithfulness that under gird our daily practice.

In our gospel lesson this morning,
Jesus is preparing his disciples for his imminent departure.
He allows them to overhear his prayer on their behalf.
Above all, he prays that they will be transformed, or “sanctified,” by God’s Word,
transformed to the point that they are fully integrated, heart, body, mind and spirit;
transformed to the point that they will be able to plant themselves
by streams of God’s mercy and be steadfast in the face of all the temptations
to go for the quick fix, the easy score, or the safe bet.
He doesn’t say so in so many words,
but he’s encouraging them to be like trees,
like the trees both the psalmist and Joyce Kilmer write about.

Joyce Kilmer was not only a poet, but he was a man of deep Christian faith,
and one who, when the time came, stepped forward to serve his country in WW I.2
He was, by all accounts, universally love by those whom he led
and he was one of those soldiers who did what soldiers are told never to do.
He volunteered – volunteered for the most hazardous duty.
His last duty was to lead a scouting party in search of an enemy machine gun post.
He was killed while on that mission by a sniper’s bullet.
Kilmer was posthumously awarded the Croix de Guerre medal of valor by France
and buried in an American cemetery in France.

Just because you serve your country in the military
doesn’t mean you are any more integrated in your life
or willing to commit yourself for the long haul
or more obedient to God’s law.
Neither our armed forces nor our churches for that matter
will ever be free of people with ulterior and selfish motives.

But on this Memorial Day Sunday we do honor those women and men
who have exhibited integrity in their leadership,
courage in their service,
and strength in their commitment.
We give thanks that they have born their fruit in its season.

1Peterson, Eugene, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society, Downer’s Grove, IL: Intervarsity Press, 2000.

2 Hillis, John. Joyce Kilmer: A Bio-Bibliography. Master of Science (Library Science) Thesis. Catholic University of America. (Washington, DC: 1962).

At the Corner of Opportunity and Need John 15:1-8, Acts 8:26-40

It’s Mother’s Day, so I want to give a nod to you mother’s out there
and also you mother-figures,
because, let’s face it, biological ties are sometimes a hindrance more than a help
and it’s those children who have a whole tapestry of positive relationships
with coaches and dance instructors and tutors and Sunday school teachers
who are able to be most resilient in the long run.

A child often chafes under the apparent impossibility of doing anything
that his mother doesn’t know about;
the old “eyes in the back of the head” phenomenon.
What children don’t fully understand is how intensely focused their mothers often are,
how totally immersed a mother can be in her child’s life.
Most of us are not aware of our own non-verbal body language –
the way we stand, the way we look when we’re nervous or feeling guilty.
But mothers could teach a graduate level course in body language
at least as it relates to their children.

We speak of a mother’s intuition,
but really that intuition is nothing more than the combination of motivation and passion:
the motivation to live up to the responsibility parenting requires
combined with a deep passion for her subject.
This combination of motivation and passion gives mothers a special insight,
a hypersensitivity,
a heightened awareness of where her opportunity as a parent
intersects with her child’s most pressing need.
Good mother’s often have that intuition, but not exclusively.
It’s not a quality found only in parents.
Take Philip for example.

There is a Philip listed among the original 12 disciples
but that Philip was from Bethsaida, a town on the shore of the sea of Galilee.
The Philip we meet in Acts is probably not that the same one.
The Philip in Acts is referred to as one of the Hellenists,
that is, a Jew, but a Jew who spoke Greek
as opposed to those who spoke Hebrew or Aramaic.
In other words, he was one of the Jews of the diaspora, an outsider, a mutt of sorts
who didn’t share the pure pedigree of a Palestinian Jew;
kind of like the difference between one who goes to the University of Virginia in Wise,
and one who actually lives his fourth year on Mr. Jefferson’s lawn
At any rate, maybe Philip was one of the crowd on the day of Pentecost
when God’s Holy Spririt was poured out on 3000 Jews
gathered in Jerusalem for the festival.
However it happened, he became a follower of Jesus of Nazareth.

In chapter six of Acts, we’re told that Philip was chosen by church leaders
along with fellow Hellenist Stephen
to attend to the needs of widows and the poor in the early church
He was present when Stephen was stoned to death by leaders of the synagogue
who were threatened by Stephen’s skill as a debater on behalf
of those who followed Jesus of Nazareth.
Stephen’s death unleashed a flurry of persecutions,
and Jerusalem got pretty hot for the followers of Jesus.
So Philip went north to Samaria where the scripture tells us he preached to crowds.
He did mighty works in Jesus’ name which brought great joy to the people.
Not bad for an outsider.

When Peter and John, two of the original twelve, came up from the Jerusalem church
to verify the fruits of Philip’s labor,
Luke tells us that the Holy Spirit took that opportunity
to send Philip in an entirely new direction.
As Luke tells it, an angel of the Lord appeared to Philip and said,
“Get up and go toward the south, to the road that goes from Jerusalem to Gaza.”
Luke adds “This is a wilderness road,” just to make sure we don’t miss the implication.
Throughout the history of salvation,
God has done God’s most dramatic work in the wilderness.

“Go South – take the wilderness road.”
Now tell me, if you didn’t already know the story,
how would you expect Philip to react to that directive?
If it was me I’d stall. I’d pretend I didn’t hear.
I’d turn up the TV and hold a newspaper in front of my face.
Samaria has been good to Philip.
He’s packed them in,
felt the power of God’s presence,
done mighty works in Jesus’ name
and now he’s supposed to risk his neck, not to mention his success,
to travel some lonely, dangerous road to Gaza?
In Samaria he’s been filling John Paul Jones Arena,
and now he’s supposed to pick up and go to Wyngina?

If it was me I’d act like the signal was breaking up,
“Call back later,” I’d say, “I didn’t really catch that….”
But, fortunately for the church and especially the good people of Ethiopia,
Philip took a different tack.

Having felt the power of God’s love in his own life,
having experienced the peace of Christ, the embrace of God’s grace,
Philip had a passion for reaching out to those who had not yet had that experience.
He had the motivation to tell others, especially outsiders,
the good news of God’s acceptance
revealed in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.
Like a mother watching over her child,
Philip was sensitive to the places where the opportunity to tell of God’s love
intersects with need to hear it
and when you have that kind sensitivity, you don’t have to wait very long
for such an intersection to occur.

Luke doesn’t give us a biographical sketch of the Ethiopian eunuch,
but, then, he tells us all we really need to know.
Being an Ethiopian, we assume the man was dark skinned.
Being a eunuch, we know that as a child someone set for him the course of his life
neutering him physically in order to make him fit to serve the queen
without being a threat to the Queen.
The main thing Luke seems to want us to know is that he was an outsider,
someone strange and exotic to the pedigreed Jews of Palestine.
In other words, just the kind of person to whom Philip could relate.

We tend to have this stereotype of Africa as a dark continent,
but tradition has it that there were Jews in Ethiopia dating back to Solomon’s reign
in the tenth century B.C.
originating from his liaison with the Queen of Sheba.
So here was a court official, probably a Jew, traveling in his fancy chariot,
headed back home to Ethiopia after worshipping in Jerusalem.
He’s reading from the prophet Isaiah, which is an important part of the story.

In the daily practice of Judaism eunuchs were seen as suspect.
they didn’t fit anyone’s definition of “normal.”
But in Isaiah we find a compassionate bit of pastoral care for eunuchs.
Isaiah writes that though they have no sons or daughters to carry on the family name,
God will give an everlasting name
to any eunuchs who “hold fast the covenant.”

In our bias against Africa we also tend to read this story
and marvel at the spiritual sensitivity and inclusiveness of Philip
reaching out to the Ethiopian.
What we fail to appreciate
is that the Ethiopian official was perhaps even more sensitive and inclusive.
The Ethiopian’s willingness to invite Philip into his chariot
was like US Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner
having his driver slow up on Pennsylvania Avenue to invite a hitchhiker aboard.
How do you do that
unless you also have a deep passion for God’s word
and a motivation to know all you can about your Creator?

The Ethiopian official hadn’t heard about the events in Jerusalem
surrounding the death and resurrection of Jesus,
but his openness to God’s Word made him a willing listener.
Philip had no seminary degree
but his gratitude for the holy embrace he, an outsider, had felt
made him a willing guide.
Each man traveled that wilderness road in a spirit of openness
with a willingness to have their agenda interrupted,
with a powerful thirst to know more what God had in store for their life.
Each of them found his strength in what John’s gospel calls
the willingness to “abide” in God like a branch abides in the vine.
We give thanks for mothers today,
especially for those who have the motivation to be responsible parents
and the deep passion to be intimately involved in their children’s lives.
We who have had this kind of mother sometimes take it for granted.
Those who haven’t have this kind of mother
may not fully understand what they’ve missed.

Being a good parent or being a faithful follower of Jesus
each requires a willingness to be invested in the process:
heart, body, mind and spirit.
It requires the understanding that we are in this together,
that God’s design requires no one to walk alone.
It requires the ability to trust, that with God’s help
no challenge is too great
and no encounter is too insignificant.

Being a good parent or being a faithful follower of Jesus
means waking each day with an openness to the possibilities God has in store.
It means being adventurous enough to take the wilderness road when the Spirit so moves
and cultivating not just a willingness, but an eagerness
to live your life in such a way that it’s no accident, not a fluke
when you look at the signs and suddenly find yourself
at the corner of opportunity and need.

The Death of the Hired Man John 10:11-18, 1 John 3:16-24

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.”
The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,
He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside the still waters,
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
the valley of the shadow,
the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I fear no evil,
for you are with me.
I am the sheep – the sheep who has a good shepherd,
a good shepherd who lays down his life for me.

I’m not exactly a country boy, though I’ve adapted pretty well to country life
and my recent week in the large city of Odessa, Ukraine
helped clarify my natural inclinations to a slower pace of life.
I don’t know sheep.
I don’t know shepherds.
But I do know enough of you dog lovers and horse lovers
to imagine without difficulty
the possibility of one of you risking your own life
to protect the life of your beloved appaloosa or chocolate lab.
My life is precious to me
and when I read John’s metaphor of the good shepherd who loves his sheep
enough to give up his life for them
I can imagine the depth of care, the strength of connection,
the single-minded devotion that goes into such a relationship.

I read the tenth chapter of John and the question I always ask myself is,
“Could I do that? Could I lay down my life for someone?
is there any person, any cause so great
that I would put my own life at risk
for the sake of that person or that cause?”
That’s an important question to ask ourselves.
It’s a profound point to ponder, for sure.
But I don’t think that’s the question Jesus is raising here.

I don’t think Jesus wants to know if we ourselves
could serve as a stand-in for the good shepherd.
We HAVE a good shepherd
We only need one.

I think the question Jesus is asking is not, “Can you be a good shepherd, too?”
The question Jesus is asking is, “Can you be a good sheep?”
Jesus, the Good Shepherd, has already laid down his life for us.
The question for us is this: Will we receive his gift?
Will we relate to him as to one who has already made the first move
to be intimately connected with us?
Or will we treat him as simply a hired hand, a mercenary,
one who may have ulterior motives
and who should be taken with a giant grain of salt?

One of the side effects of living in a free-market economy
is that we tend to see every aspect of our lives, every relationship,
as an economic transaction.
Do you remember back in junior high how sometimes you chose your friends
based on the idea that hanging out with a popular person
would increase your own popularity?
Or maybe you weren’t quite that desperate
but at least do you remember choosing NOT to be some unpopular child’s friend
because others might think you equally inept or uncool?

Bill Clinton’s famous campaign slogan was “It’s the economy, stupid!”
and that’s so true – so true of every aspect of our lives.
We grow up in this culture with calculators clicking away in our brains
measuring value added against resources expended
assuming that no one does anything for anyone
without expecting something in return.
And God help the poor soul whose debts grow too large.
How can you possibly show your face in public
if it’s been over six months and you still haven’t had a dinner party at your house
to pay back those who have already invited you.

The truth is, we treat each other like hired hands,
like somebody on the payroll who can’t be expected to act out of grace
without asking something in return.
Every act of kindness toward me feels like a burden I’ve got to repay.
Every expression of generosity gets entered in a ledger somewhere.
We even relate to God this way.

In 1 John we read:
Beloved, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have boldness before God;
and we receive from him whatever we ask, because we obey his commandments
and do what pleases him.

To our consumer-oriented ears that sounds like a deal being struck,
a quid pro quo business arrangement.
If I obey God’s commandments and do what pleases God,
God has to give me whatever I ask for.
It’s the kind of deal you make with a hired hand,
and then monitor closely to make sure you get all you deserve.

But we are not God’s hired hands, nor is God ours.
From the beginning God has promised we will not get what we deserve,
and thank God for that!
1 John says, “We know love by this – that he laid down his life for us.”
There’s no way we deserve that.
It is God’s gift and it lifts us out of our free-market, consumer oriented frame of mind
into a whole new realm of grace.

If you enjoy the poetry of Robert Frost,
you know his poem, “The Death of the Hired Man.”
The poem centers on a conversation between Mary and her husband Warren,
about the hired man, Silas, who, like a bad penny keeps turning up.
One evening when Warren returns from town, Mary warns him that Silas has come back,
and in their conversation it becomes clear that Silas has proven unreliable,
one of those workers who promises big but has no follow through.
His one skill is knowing how to build a load of hay
but that’s a small consolation compared to the times he’s left them in the lurch.

As the conversation progresses, the hard edge of Warren’s frustration at Silas softens
and they reflect on the sadness of his life,
how he has “nothing to look back on in pride and noting to look forward to in hope.”
Is it Silas’ own fault that he has little to show for his life?
Maybe.
It does appear that he has squandered the days God gave him
always taking the easier path,
making promises,
but then forgetting those promises when something better came along.

Still, Mary and Warren come to the realization
that Silas’ past mistakes mean very little in the grand scheme things.
For good or for ill, his life is intertwined with theirs
and, in Mary’s words, he has come home to die.
Warren gently mocks her use of the word, “Home.”
What makes THEIR farm this hired man’s home?
She responds, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
they have to take you in.”
And she continues, “I should have called it something you somehow haven’t to deserve.”

At the end of the poem, Warren goes in to check on Silas
and discovers that the hired man has indeed died.
But the point of the poem is that the hired man had already died.
As Mary and Warren reflected together on the sum of Silas’ life
and realized that theirs was not longer the relationship of employer and employee
with all the burden of weighing obligations against performance,
the careful calculation of effort expended and rewards deserved.
Silas wasn’t their hired hand any longer. He was their brother. A Fellow traveler
a child of God in the human family.
The Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.
Not as a hired hand, who runs away at the first sign of trouble,
because, let’s face it, there’s nothing in his job description about risking his life.

This morning we gather for communion signifying that God’s kingdom
is not a free-market economy where we get what we deserve.
Thank God.
There is a place for business deals, for contracts,
for employers and employees, but not here. Not here.
Here we celebrate the undeserved love of God
shown us in the care of the Good Shepherd.
What else can we do but resolve to be the best sheep we can be.