The Family Christmas Letter: Christmas 2018

Well, it's already come and gone - Christmas, that is - and here I am not having written a Christmas letter, yet. With apologies for my tardiness, I want to dash this off to get y'all caught up in our story.

You may remember last Christmas, I told you about our adventures in owning a bar. I ran the bar-back, Laura was the tobacco-chewing bouncer, and Christopher was running a parts salvage place, re-selling parts that mysteriously and suddenly were needed for the bikes in the parking lot. Megan was creating fine art and plant arrangements, wanting to get into horticulture in Denver, but it turns out in Texas, you cannot yet put weeds in your floral arrangements. Who knew? Alyssa had been teaching a night class on "Gambling for fun, profit, and financial aid" at the Alabama University for the Bright but Underachieving and Remarkably Naive ("AUBURN"), and was getting a lot of attention by the school and even some guys from Washington.

In fact, it turned out that our whole family got put on some kind of "watch list" for what we were doing. I thought, given the economy, that this would be a good thing. America needa more entrepreneurs, and if the government was going to give us our own YouTube channel for people to learn how to make money, that was OK with me.

Well, it wasn't a YouTube channel that we got. One day about a dozen men and women showed up at the bar. They were obviously important - they had matching jackets with letters spray painted across the back. Wanting to be friendly, I asked if they were from a new biker group. They said, no, they were from Washington. I told them it was OK - we have to serve anyone, no matter if they are from the west coast. They said, no, they were from Washington, DC and needed to ask us some questions.

Turns out, our bar had become a hang-out for a notorious biker group calling themselves the WD-40s. I got scared, thinking this was some kind of gang like the MS-13's we keep hearing about. One guy - he said he was from the federal dresser investigators (what he was hoping to find in my wife's bureau, I don't know) - said this gang was a bunch of middle-aged businessmen who fixed sticky situations. Apparently they fixed books, shaved points, and were running something called a Fonzie scheme on unsuspecting clients. All of our small businesses were impacted by this group.

Well, I'm no dummy, I said - I don't let people repair books in my bar - tape and glue is a fire hazard. No one except my daughter uses the pencil sharpener to shave the point of her pencil, and I don't let anyone mess with my jukebox or set up an office in the men's room, no matter how cool they are.

This FBI guy sighed, shook his head, frowned, rubbed his temples, started mumbling, and then he really got upset. I know that because he walked away and sent another fellow over who was from East Texas - Marshall, his jacket said. He said they were going to have to put my family into witness protection because they needed us for what we saw.

They said they would "spare no expense" and move us where we wanted to go. We would need new identities and new careers. They said we could write family, but had to use our new names. So, let's see if you can figure this out.

The move started out OK. They brought us a U-haul that didnt have more than a quarter million miles on it. Not bad for a '83 model. The guys in the matching letter jackets looked a little old for high school, and complained about babysitting the Morons - I figured that was our new name. I said that it didn't seem fair we had to pack our own truck and asked to see that paperwork. I guess I didnt pay attention when I signed, because the paperwork actually said "spare every expense" and we were moving to Cuero.

So they have us set up in Cuero, now. The house is Barney purple, and kind of sears the eyes in afternoon sunlight. The freight trains rumble by and the chain link fence apparently isn't a sound blocking kind, because our velvet Elvis keeps getting knocked off the wall. Cuero seemed a safe enough place, quiet and unassuming, but now our high school football team won state and everyone knows where we are. I was in Piggly Wiggly when the news came over the internets about the victory and I got interviewed by the local TV station and bait  shop. I kept my cool and, remembering what my wife said about not sounding like a fool, said the tornado sounded just like a train, like they say in all them movies on TV. The camera man must have been kin to those guys from FBI - he shook his head the same way, rubbes his temples, and walked away.

So, here we are - all set up with our new identities. They call me Don, my wife is Lauren, our kids are Alicia, Morgan, and Fonzie. Since there seemed so much opportunity in the field, we plan to open a small business called Moron's Book Fixing and Point Shaving. The man from Marshall just sighed and rubbed his temples when I told him our plans...

Ok...so this continues the far-flung adventures that dont really exist. Thankfully, we're not in witness protection and havent had to move.

In fact, all is well in Mission Valley, Texas. I am blessed beyond measure to be the pastor of Zion. I am encouraged, challenged (in the good sense), and supported in ministry. We aren't breaking growth records, but attendance is steady and strong with new guests worshipping with us in a regular basis. Laura is still at the Region education office and serves schools in over a dozen districts the area. She is very good at her job and is frequently requested, by name, to present to these schools for workshops and presentations - even from schools she is not assigned to.

Our kids are all half-through their year - Alyssa at Alabama, Megan at Victoria West HS, and Chris at Cade Middle school (8th grade is sort of like being a senior, right?). Alyssa is finishing her BS in engineering, is working for a professor in a start-up company, and is planning to stick around for an MBA and maybe a Masters of Mechanical Engineering, too. The prof likes her work and is trying to work out funding for both degrees. Megan is focused on vet tech work and has been accepted to Texas A&M Kingsville, about 2 hours from home. We visited a few weeks back and she liked what she saw. Her love for animals will help her fit in nicely there.

Chris had a scare this summer. After months of pain all spring, we took Chris to a specialist in Austin where an MRI and an X-ray told us the frightening news that Chris had a tumor in his hip. Fearing the worst - starting with a capital C - a biopsy revealed the truth: cartilidge didn't develop into bone like it was supposed to and had, instead, calcified into a golf-ball size lump in his hip bone. Thank God, Dr. Williams - a highly skilled surgeon - sees dozens of these a month and removed the mass. When we went back for the follow 3 months later, he said if he hadnt been the surgeon knowing exactly where to look, he would have missed the spot in the X-rays. Diagnosis was 100% recovery with an almost 0% chance of any complications or re-growth. Relief, thanks, and gratitude to God and to a crack staff at Dell - especially a nurse named Diane (pronounced Deon, as in Sanders), as well as the family and friends who remembered our son in prayer...this was the best gift we received all year.

As the year comes to a rapid conclusion, now just a few days away, we rejoice in the gifts God showers on us daily in our homes, at work, in play, with health and happiness.

Here's to the new year. May she be even better than the old one. - Col. Sherman T. Potter, MASH 4077.

And may the peace, joy, and hope of the Newborn Christ Child be yours today, tomorrow, and always.

-Jonathan, Laura, Alyssa, Megan & Christopher Meyer

Christmas Gift! - Luke 2:1-20

After months of building anticipation and growing excitement, it is finally here: Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We have looked forward to this joyous night of celebration when we join hearing the narrative of Luke 2. Through hymns and readings, in our minds we have traveled back to O Little Town of Bethlehem where Gentle Mary Laid Her Child, tucked Away in a Manger, truly A Great and Mighty Wonder to behold. Once, in Royal David’s City, Of the Father’s Love Begotten, It Came Upon A Midnight Clear as Hark, the Herald Angels Sing. In just a few moments, candles will burn, and the lights will be bumped down and, soto voce, we remember the Silent Night when alles schleft, einsem vacht. As the final “Amen” echoes through the church, there is a sense that – if only for a moment – there truly is peace on earth and goodwill toward men.

Naturally, our attention is drawn to Mary and Joseph – after all, they are the newly minted parents. Mary as mother of man mother of God will always inspire both majesty and awe – even Mary herself wondered how this could be, that God would chose her from among the least of the women of Israel. Mary delivered the Bread of Life in the House of Bread. Joseph as step-father to God’s own Son, possibly burdened with the shame he might have felt as people whispered about his wife’s pregnancy. A cursory glance is tossed at Herod the Great – both because it was his decree that God used to have Jesus delivered in Bethlehem, and because he was the monster who had a unknown number of babies and toddlers murdered trying to hunt down Jesus. Again, because of the romantic mis-notion, folks will also include the wise men, the magi, but they probably didn’t arrive for quite some time yet. We certainly can’t forget the angels – both the lead spokesperson and the whole, heavenly hosts who follow Gabriel’s lead in disturbing the peace with the message of peace.

So let’s see…Mary – check; Joseph – check; Herod – check; wise men – in waiting, but check; the angels – check; and we might as well toss the hotel manager in the mix, too. Who’s missing?

Ah, yes - the baby. Not just any baby, though. This is God’s entering into time, through the Virgin Mary, in the person of the God-child Jesus.

Every other religion in the world demands that man somehow approach their diety, whether it’s with bribery, chicanery, trickery; accomplished with acts of strength, wisdom, or foolish bravado. Not only does the Triune God NOT demand we come to Him – we cannot by our own reason or strength do this, remember? – He comes to us. God descends from the highest of heavens, takes on human flesh and weakness, and comes to us.

He comes as a baby born, conceived in an extra-ordinary way, to be sure, but born in an ordinary way, like any of us. Although a descendant of King David, and Himself King of Kings and Lord of Lords, His bassinette was a manger. Although His Father is Divine and Eternal, His earthly mother was a simple Jewish woman from Nazareth – Nazareth…can anything good come from Nazareth? We shall see. His step-father a craftsman – about as nondescript and average as you could find. And, Bethlehem? Other than having a historical significance as David’s birthplace, it was such an insignificant little berg that already 600 years earlier Micah had declared it “least among the clans of Judah.”

But it is from this humble and unexceptional setting that the most remarkable event happens. Although the birth was ordinary, from human terms, it was and always will be extraordinary. Remember: God comes to us. This boy-child, son of Mary, is also the God-child, Son of God. His name is Jesus, which means Savior, because He has come to save us from our sins.

Never forget that the reason for tonight’s celebration has its roots at a tree in the Garden, a tree filled with tempting but forbidden fruit, and a man and a woman’s inability to resist temptation. Their surrender to the devil’s lies that day trapped mankind in a world of dark despair. Out of a Father’s love for His beloved, but fallen, creation, God pledged to send His Son to rescue, redeem and save that which otherwise would be lost. Jesus’ death at the cross would be the ultimate gift of love: His only-begotten Son would be sacrificed; a perfect gift for imperfect people.

While that lies ahead, Jesus’ death is always on the horizon. The cross always stands ahead. The cross, not the manger, is Jesus’ throne. The cross, not the manger, is where God’s glory is fully shown. The cross, not the manger, is where Jesus saves. The cross, where Mary would watch her son – and God’s Son – die. And then, three days later, He would be birthed again – not from womb, but from the tomb – risen, resurrected, whole and alive.

That is down the road.

Tonight, we celebrate that Christ is born.
A gift for you.
A Savior.

Last year, after Christmas Eve service, someone gave me a handshake and said, “Christmas gift!” I had never heard that before, but I have read about it. Author Ferrol Sams describes how his family used it when he was a child growing up in the depression[1]:

“Christmas gift!,” we would shout! Then it rang all over the house, “Christmas gift!” You said it first and you said it fast. You said it to anyone and everyone upon first sight that day. It was the salutation of the season, used only on that day. It was an accomplishment to catch a sister, a cousin, and aunt or uncle unaware with this cry. Christmas gift!

They say we picked it up generations before. Maybe so. It was said that whoever beat another person to saying it was supposed to receive a present from that individual… But it was impossible to get daddy. He beat everybody to it, his parents, his siblings, and certainly his children. He surprised, he startled, he anticipated everyone. It was a point of honor with him. He carried the custom into his 80s. He was even known to hide behind the smoke house and leave out at arriving grandchildren. “Christmas gift!”

But what it really means is I love you and on that one day of the year they can be shouted exultantly to the heavens. “Christmas gift! Christmas gift! Everybody - Christmas gift!”

On that night of old, the Bethlehem hillside rang with God’s declaration of Christmas gift! The angel said, “Fear not, for behold I bring you good news that will be fore all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord!”  (Luke 2:10-11) So there was no doubt that this message of Christmas gift love, an entire chorus of angels joined in: Glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace, among those whom He is pleased.” (v. 11-12).

For most of us, Christmas involves gifts under the tree and exchanging those with family and friends. Whether you are celebrating tonight or tomorrow; whether you stay up late or get up early – or both – don’t forget the reasons for these gifts we give. It’s because of the Christmas gift of Jesus.

To the shepherds, to Mary and Joseph, to the town of Bethlehem, to all of Israel, to all of the world, to Mission Valley, to you, people of Zion: Christmas gift! Christmas gift! Everybody – Christmas gift!

This gift is Jesus.

In His name. Amen.

---

[1] Ferrol Sams, Christmas Gift. Delta Publishing, © 1989. P. 42-44.

My Lord! - Luke 1:39-45

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

This weekend is one of the busiest travel weeks of the year. The American Automobile Association estimates that from December 23 thru January 1, almost 110 million Americans will be traveling this year via planes, trains and automobiles. To put that into perspective, that’s roughly twice the population of Texas. For all of you who are traveling, whether it’s just into town or across the state or even across the country, we pray God’s speed and safe travels for you.

This morning’s Gospel lesson tells us of a family get together that was unlike any other, when Mary went to visit Elizabeth.   

It must have been a remarkable visit for these women. Two women, pregnant, at more-or-less the same time, just a few months apart in their pregnancy. Pregnant women, getting together to share pregnancy stories, isn’t all that unusual, I don’t think.  This is especially true of first-time mothers, I suspect. But the circumstances behind their pregnancies were most unusual.  

Elizabeth, for example, was advanced in years. That’s Luke’s polite and genteel way of saying she was an older woman, so much so that she was no longer biologically capable of having a child. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Earlier in chapter one, Luke gives us the backstory. She and her husband Zechariah wanted a child desperately, but the Lord did not allow this blessing to come to them. The inability to have a child was, in the early Jewish world, a demonstration that you were in disfavor with God. If there was no child, the conclusion was simply obvious: either the husband or wife had done something to cause God to not bless them with a child, with an heir to carry on the family name. The family would die when the mother and father died. And now, by the grace of God, according to the angel’s message, Elizabeth was carrying the child who would be the forerunner of the Messiah. Her husband, not believing the angel’s message, was struck mute. I’m speculating here, but for that reason alone – to have someone to talk with - Elizabeth must have enjoyed the company of her fellow mother-to-be, Mary when she came to visit.

Mary was much younger than her relative. Tradition says that she was in her mid-teens – not much older than some of our daughters or granddaughters – but, to be accurate and fair, we must admit there is no Biblical evidence of her age at all. She could have been fourteen; she could have been twenty-four. We don’t know. And, the fact is, her age really doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she, by the grace of God and by the power of the Holy Spirit, is carrying in her womb the son of God. She had been told of this news by the Angel Gabriel. Hearing this remarkable news, she simply declares herself a servant of the Lord; may it be according to the word of the angel. Likewise, her fiancée, Joseph, was told by an angel of Mary’s pregnancy but, unlike Zechariah, who simply could not believe the news of Elizabeth, Joseph obeys the angel’s command and takes Mary into his home as his wife.

Perhaps there were whispers in Nazareth about Mary and Joseph, her being pregnant already before their wedding consummation. Perhaps she was tired of the community’s whispers; maybe Joseph agreed. Perhaps she heard of Elizabeth’s joyous news that she, too, would be a mother and Mary wanted to share the excitement with her relative. Whatever the reason, Mary goes to visit Elizabeth.

The Christian church rightly teaches that Jesus’ miracle at Cana, changing water to wine, is His first public miracle. This is true. But there are three, very powerful – but hidden – miracles that take place in this morning’s Gospel reading that are worth remembering.

The first miracle is that in the womb of Mary, God becomes man. You can accurately say Mary gives birth to a boy and at the same time you can say Mary gives birth to God. That Jesus is Immanuel, God With Us, is necessary so He is able to be like us in every way from birth to death with all emotions, feelings, needs, and even temptations that are ours. Yet, while He is fully man, Jesus remains fully God, always maintaining His divinity so He can be without sin and be the perfect sacrifice for the world He comes to save.

The second miracle is that Mary is a virgin. Her pregnancy is by the power of the Holy Spirit. There is no analogy, no metaphor that we can use to explain this because there is nothing else like this in the world. We cannot prove it or scientifically demonstrate it. We must take this in faith. It is not blind faith, though, for Matthew does quote Isaiah and remind us that, in Mary, “the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call His name Immanuel.”  

The third miracle is that these two women share the similarity of faith: by the grace of God, enabled by the spirit of God, they are given the gift of faith, believing the angel’s message that Mary is to be the mother of God. Elizabeth, upon hearing Mary’s greeting, experienced John’s leaping in her womb and blesses both Mary and the unborn Baby Jesus.

Neither Mary nor Elizabeth know, at this point, what is in store for their sons – at least, not completely. Yes, the angel had spoken prophetically to Zechariah about how John would be a great servant of the Lord, Spirit-filled, and in the footsteps of Elijah, he will turn the hearts of many to the Lord and prepare the way for the Lord. And, yes, the angel had also spoken to Mary, telling her that she will miraculously conceive the Son of the Most High, in the line of David. No ordinary child, this baby will be the holy Son of God.

A moment ago, I said that without an heir, a family line will die. Without a male heir, a family name will cease. These are as true today as it was then. In the Biblical age, this was considered a curse of God. But because of a curse of God, spoken in the Garden long ago, this heir was infinitely more important. When God’s first son and first daughter, Adam and Eve, ate of the forbidden fruit, God spoke a curse upon them, and all of their sons and daughters, for their sins: they would die after a lifetime of toil, sweat, and tears. But, God also spoke a blessing: that His seed, His own child, would come to crush satan’s head underfoot. A second Son, a second Adam was needed – one who would perfectly fulfill God’s Law for us, and take our place under that Law, to redeem us from this curse of sin. The redemption price would be high – terribly high – and cost this Son his very life-blood, trading His holiness for the sins of the world. But in this death He would save. This Son, this fulfillment of God’s promise, was in Mary’s womb. His name would be Jesus, because He will save His people from our sins. Through Eve, sin came into the world and through Eve’s womb, hers and Adam’s sins are still passed on from generation to generation still today. But through the child of Mary’s womb, Eve’s sins, and Adam’s sins, and your sins and my sins, will be forgiven.

Visits last but a short time. A wise guy once said both family and fish start to stink after three days. We don’t know how long Elizabeth enjoyed Mary’s company. It really doesn’t matter, because the joyous news of this visit continues today, even here among us. Did you catch the two words Elizabeth used to describe the baby in Mary’s womb? They are easy to miss. Let me read this again: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” There it is: my Lord. Elizabeth identifies Jesus as her Lord, her Savior, Her Messiah who would rescue her into eternity.

You share that confession. You said it a minute ago in the Creed, albeit in the plural: “I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord.” You, along with Elizabeth, empowered by the Spirit of God, know, believe, trust and rely that this Jesus, whom today we read about still in Mary’s womb, was already then, and still is now, our Savior. “For God so loved the world” - or as we might say in Texas, “For God so loved all y’all” - is absolutely true, don’t ever forget that from His conception to His life, death and resurrection, Jesus was and is entirely for you - second person singular – an individual child of God. And, so you have no doubt that Christ is your substitutionary sacrifice, you have been Baptized into Christ, clothed with Christ, and given the name of Christ.

Blessed is he and she – blessed are you - who believes that there was fulfillment of what was spoken to Mary from the Lord.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

I've got the joy, joy, joy! Zephaniah 3:14-17

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Traditionally, Advent is a penitential season. It is a time for repentance. Sounds strange to our modern ears, given that the Christmas season now seems to begin shortly after the 4^th of July, but if you think of it, it does make sense. Advent is a time for repentance because the whole reason that God sent His Son to be born of Mary is that the world needed saving from sins. The whole reason Jesus came in the first place is because of our sins. Thus, Jesus’ birth. There is a linear thought, then, that Advent should be a time to contemplate, remember, and confess our sins. To help drive this home, the traditional color for Advent was purple – the same as Lent. And, if you read any of the sermons of a generation or two ago – I know, not exactly on your wish list for reading material – you would see that the sermons of that day and age weren’t all that unlike John the Baptizer, thundering and calling people to repentance.

But then you arrived at the third Sunday of Advent and suddenly, the gears shifted. Instead of the heavy message repentance, there was joy. On this Sunday, there would be a pink candle in the Advent wreath; sometimes the paraments would also be changed to pink. In fact, the old Latin name for the third Sunday is Gaudate Sunday – you hear the English “gaudy” there – which means “joy” or “rejoice.” In the midst of a season of repentance, there was a time for rejoicing.

Joy is a spiritual fruit; it is a gift of God. A Christian’s joy comes from outside of us. You’ve heard me say it before; we are beggars with empty sacks – how could we create joy on our own? So, Jesus fills us up with joy. Christian joy is different than happiness; isn’t merely a feeling or an emotion. It is a state of being. Filled with the joy of Christ, what else can we do, what else can we be other than joyful, for we are joy-filled!

And there should be rejoicing in Advent. Christ’s advent is nigh – first, in time as a child in Bethlehem; second, in eternity when He returns in glory to judge the living and the dead. The day is soon approaching. We are a mere nine days away from the celebration of His Nativity; we are a day closer to the day of His return. We, as His people, live in His grace and mercy, trusting that in Him our sins are forgiven. What great news!   This is what allows Paul to say in this morning’s Epistle, “Rejoice in the Lord always!”

Ah, there’s the rub – isn’t it? “Always.” How on earth are we supposed to rejoice always? Turn on the news for thirty minutes; flip through the paper; scan the internet. How are we supposed to be joyful when there are so many things that are going on around us that are anything but joy-full? Police arrest six adults in New Jersey on criminal charges of abuse and endangerment of a child, the story so disgusting I can’t even read the whole news story. Tensions in Venezuela continue to rise with Russia sending nuclear-capable bombers on an exercise, seeming to taunt the United States and our allies. A tire company closes their Central America plants which, in turn, cause them to close their Tennessee plant. Workers get ten tires as severance. Suicide rates escalate this time of year for both senior citizens and teenagers; one can’t take the loneliness, the other can’t stand the pressure. Farmers got caught with the late season rains and acres and acres of cotton are left unharvested and ruined. Do we put gifts under the tree or tires under the car? Mom and Dad are fighting again. We sing the modern Christmas song, “Four new prescriptions, three medical tests, two new appointments, and a whopper of a medical bill.”

I think the Baptizer would have empathized. After all, he had spent his entire ministry preaching a message of preparation and repentance. But the Jesus that he is seeing and hearing about isn’t the Jesus he was expecting. It causes John to question, to wonder, perhaps even a measure of doubt, “Are you the one, or is there another one coming? Did I misunderstand? Did I miss the signs? John expected a winnowing fork, a fuller’s fire but what Jesus does is the exact opposite. But, that’s where Jesus points John: to the signs and wonders, to the blind receiving sight, the deaf being able to hear, and the lame walking. These demonstrate that Jesus is God in flesh – who else could do such a miracle? And, if Jesus is able to do these things, then surely He is able to do even more: to save His people.

So, where do you find joy on this third Sunday of Advent, this Joy Sunday, when we are surrounded by these things that suck the joy right out of our lives?

Someone very near and dear to my wife and I has been having a very difficult time lately. Life has been coming a little harder and heavier. Some days are at the verge of being overwhelming. Friday evening, Laura stopped and picked up a card to encourage this dear soul. She showed it to me. On the front were four Bible verses I skimmed through the first three and thought, “This is nice…” But then, I got to the fourth verse and stopped. I read it; and then I re-read it. Where have I seen that before, I wondered…and then I looked at the reference. It was from a seemingly obscure book in the Old Testament. Now, we don’t spend as much time in the Old Testament, so we are less familiar with it, but that’s even more true of the so-called minor prophets in the end of the Old Testament. By the way, they’re called “minor” due to their size, not because of having a less important message. But what we call the Old Testament is what John, or Peter, or Mary or Joseph for that matter, it’s what they would have simply known as their Bible, the Scriptures. The New Testament wasn’t written until a generation after Jesus’ ascension, remember? So, back to this card… The reference was from Zephaniah 3:17 – the last verse of this morning’s first reading. “The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by His love; he will exult over you with loud singing.”

The prophet is reminding God’s people of old, held captive in the heathen land of Babylon, that even in that foreign place, even in their seemingly-joyless circumstance, God is still among His people. He will not abandon them. The prophet turns the people back to God: His gladness, His love, His rejoicing, His singing, His saving work for them.

This is what Zephaniah would do for us as well, God’s 21^st century people. He gently turns us from all of those things that would distract us, from those things that would drain the joy from our lives, and instead turns us back towards Jesus, Who came into our midst as a Immanuel, God with us, in flesh, to be as us in every way, but without sin. The Mighty One, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross and scored it’s shame does, indeed, save. This Jesus rejoices with every sinner who repents and trusts in His death and resurrection. He quiets the troubled conscience with His mercy and grace and fills them with His joy, His singing, His love.

So, I told you about the card and Zephaniah 3:17 being there. Friday morning, my devotion included this reading from something Luther wrote on this verse. He said: These things signify that their consciences would experience that fatherly sweetness of the Kingdom of the Lord. The sense is this: You will feel joy. You will feel in your conscience that the Lord is kindly disposed toward you, that he surely is a kind father to you in all things. You see, the Lord is said to rejoice over us when he causes us to sense his favor. He has expressed the nature of the Kingdom of Christ very aptly and emphatically. For thus it happens for the righteous that he allows them to be attacked, in various ways, and to be troubled by many evils, so that they may be comforted to their King. Yet he adds that feeling of joy, that security of heart, so that all things may become sweeter, so that nothing is able to separate them from the love of God. (Citation: Harrison, Matthew. Little Book of Joy, p. 16; CPH © 2009)

On this Third Sunday in Advent, if there are things in this life and this world that are troubling you, weighing your heart and conscience down, follow the words of Zephaniah who leads you back to Jesus. And on those days when you can’t rejoice, those days when your heart is too heavy, or your mind is too troubled, or your soul is almost overwhelmed, then bring your empty sack to Jesus. His rejoicing is full; His rejoicing is complete; His rejoicing is perfect and He fills your empty sack for you so that His joy overflows in you.  

I'll Have a Blue Advent - Jeremiah 33: 14-16

“I’ll Have a Blue Advent”

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Old Testament lesson from Jeremiah 33:14-16.

Two Sunday ago, after Bible class, I stepped into my office to switch my Bible for my hymnal and I noticed I had a missed call on my cell. When I checked the message, it was news that my friend, Ray, had died in his sleep earlier that morning. He and his wife were here for my installation – some of you may have talked with him. I worked for him when I graduated high school, through college, a couple summers while I was at Seminary, and even one summer after I was ordained. Over the years, especially after my dad died, our relationship changed, and he became a quasi-father figure for me. Ray had been sick for a while since the middle of summer, in and out of hospital and nursing homes for the last couple of months. He had taken a turn for the worse in October, and I knew he wasn’t well. I had called and talked with him a couple times this fall and had hoped to spend some time with him soon. His son’s phone call changed that.

His memorial service was last Saturday.  All week I was in a funk, remembering Ray’s life and contemplating his death. We had driven from Tuscaloosa, Alabama to Walburg, Texas so we could attend the service. Last Saturday I was truly sad and cried more than a few tears, before and during the service, and later in the afternoon as well. I know some of you read what I wrote on my blog. I know what I was feeling is not unique to me and many of you have been there as well.

You’ve probably heard the song, “I’ll have a Blue Christmas.” I think Elvis did it originally, but others have covered it since then. It’s a simple song, just two verses plus a refrain, that laments missing a loved one. The song doesn’t say why the loved one isn’t there – it could be death, war, or a relationship being broken apart. I guess the specifics don’t matter because, regardless, the singer is sad; he or she is blue. That’s how I was feeling last Saturday. I sure didn’t feel like Christmas was around the corner. So that evening I went for drive and I stopped at the cemetery where the members of Zion, Walburg, have been laid to rest for over a century. Names of the faithful that I knew and remember are etched in stone for generations to see. And there, in the northwest corner, is the red granite stone etched with my Mom’s birthday and next to hers, my Dad’s name, birthdate and date of his death. I was in a melancholy mood for it being just a few days before Advent. The cemetery seemed a perfect place to be that evening.

But, perhaps, a cemetery is a good starting place for the season of Advent. The word “advent” means “to come towards,” and the church marks the season as a time to prepare for Jesus coming. Advent has a two-prong focus. The first one is easy: we remember Jesus coming, in time, the long-promised Messiah to come to the House of Judah through the lineage of David, born of Mary, as the Babe of Bethlehem. It’s easy to remember because all around us the world has jumped full-swing into Christmas. Christmas music is on the radio and in the stores, the trees are up in our homes and businesses, lights twinkle and stockings are already suspended, waiting to be filled. There is nothing wrong with this – don’t get me wrong. I am not being a theological grinch, nor am I trying to be a pastoral fuddy-duddy. Our tree is up, too. I play Christmas music in my study, and I am ready for Linus to give his rendition of Luke 2 to the rest of the Peanuts gang.  

But it’s the second aspect of Advent that I was considering that gloomy Saturday evening: the return of Jesus in glory. We know this, that Jesus will return one day. It’s in the Scriptures. You heard Jesus say it Himself last week: “And then they will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory,” Mark 13:26. It’s in the Creeds: “He will come to judge the living and the dead.” It’s in our prayers. When we pray our common table prayer, we are so concerned about whether it is let this food or let Thy gifts, we forget that it’s a prayer for Jesus’ to come and be among us: Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest. We pray it in the Lord’s prayer – let Thy kingdom come. The Latin translation makes it even more clear: adveniat regnum tuum.  The last words written in Holy Scripture still echo through the centuries: Even so, come Lord Jesus! The Church has always held this promise of Christ.

But that’s part of the struggle, isn’t it. Christ’s return is so near, but also so far. It’s near: It’s as close as the Word - we repeat Jesus’ promise week after week and we know it, we believe it. But it’s so far: somewhere along the way, the imminence of, the nearness of, the yearning for Jesus’ return has gotten lost. It’s been “out there” so long that it has gotten pushed further and further out there, so far out on the edge of our periphery that we hardly even consider it in our daily lives.

The early church, the earliest Christians, believed Jesus’ return to be any day. They longed for, they yearned for, they prayed with great earnestness for the day of Christ’s return and the resurrection of all flesh. Even in Luther’s life, he fully expected Jesus to come again before he died. But today…today, the immediacy, the expectation, the desire for the day is all but lost. We’re so busy dealing with the realities that are around us – the economy, the drumbeat of war in the Ukrane, the flood of people waiting to cross into the United States, our health, the fear of layoffs, the medical tests, the slipping transmission, the leaky roof, our kids, how to afford gifts on top of all of this…the list is endless. These are real concerns – don’t misunderstand me – but the problem is that with all of these things on our minds, Jesus’ return just doesn’t make the list, or at most, it’s way down at the bottom. After all, we think, he’s waited this long…it’s been 2000 years since His ascension. Why would he pick December 2, 2018, or December 19, or even the year 2019 to return?

I think we’re more like God’s people in the Old Testament than we realize. By the time of Jeremiah, it had been thousands of years since God promised the Messiah to Adam and repeated it to Abraham. Five hundred of years had passed since King David had been promised his son would always remain on the throne. God’s people were growing weary of waiting for Messiah and their eyes, their ears, their hearts were wandering, seeking answers to temptations surrounding them. Lest we blame them too quickly, there are many parallels between then and today: Times were hard; especially for those who struggled to remain faithful to the promises of God. Their sister nation, Israel, had fallen; Judah’s kings were far from faithful; the nations surrounding them threatened to overwhelm them. Why was Messiah taking so long in coming?

Does this sound familiar? This is why Jeremiah’s words are still so poignant almost three thousand years later. Just as he did for the people of ancient Judah, he still speaks for us today. It’s as if Jeremiah is still calling out to us: “Look! Do you see what I am seeing! Do you hear what I am saying? The days, they are adventing. The time is drawing near when God will fulfill all of the promises to His people, the Church.” Jeremiah calls us, the Church, the New Israel, to repentance, confessing our sins, acknowledging that our sins are the very reason for the Messiah to be promised in the first place. He tells us how we are letting our eyes be distracted by these things around us, our ears by the noise around us, our hearts by those things that scare us, and he lets us see these things for what they really are: temptations to stop looking to Jesus. By the power of the Holy Spirit, he continues to call us to faith, trusting that we are saved by the One whose very name means Savior. Jesus did not let His eyes be distracted from the cross; He did not let His ears be swayed from the voice of His Father; He did not let His heart be pulled away from His great love for us. Everyone wants to remember His birth but remember: His purpose was to die for you. And so you never forget, and never doubt that truth, Immanuel, God-with-us, dwells among us in Word, in water, in bread and wine, with the blessed declaration that we are recipients of His righteousness, inheriting the full and free gift of the forgiveness of all of our sins. 

Earlier I said there are two aspects to Advent: one, where we look back in time to when Jesus first came in flesh, the child of Mary. Advent leans backward, so to speak, to that night of nights when Christ was born.   Advent helps us prepare to celebrate this Nativity of Jesus. This is important. This is good.

But Jeremiah helps reminds us of the second aspect of Advent: that Jesus is returning.  He is patiently waiting, not being slow in keeping His promises, as some think. His patience is an act of grace, giving people the opportunity to hear and believe of Christ who came to seek and save the lost, that they may repent and trust His promises and also look forward to the day of His return.

Perhaps you know how I was feeling last Saturday. You, too, have experienced the death of a loved one in the past year, or suffered the destruction of a relationship, or you have a loved one who won’t be coming home this year. You’re feeling a bit blue, yourself. The season of Advent is also for you. Ironically, the color is even blue, albeit for a different reason. It’s not blue for our sadness; it’s blue for Jesus’ royalty. Remember that we are awaiting Jesus’ return in glory as King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

On that great, glorious day, when the heavens are torn apart and He descends where every eye can see Him and every ear hear His voice, He will raise the dead and the faithful will be restored into perfection for eternity with Him. For those who know, believe, trust and rely on Jesus as their Savior, having been declared by their Righteous King to also be righteous, they shall be raised into eternity. And you all will see each other, you and your loved ones whom you miss now so much, you will be resurrectedly whole. But even greater than that, you will see Jesus, Immanuel, God in flesh, who came once, in time, and who returns again to deliver the salvation promised through Jeremiah.

Sing with me:

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. (LSB 357 v1)

Even so, come, Lord Jesus. Amen.                                                                                                                                                                                   

Goodbyes Stink

I checked my phone and saw who had called. Him calling me at 8am on a Sunday wasn't good. "Jon, I wanted you to know that Dad's gonna hear you preach in heaven today." Those words took my breath away. My friend, Ray, had died last Sunday, November 18, and his son, Danny, called me with the news. I sat down at my desk, put my head in my hands, and wept.

In my vocation as pastor, I deal with death and dying on a regular basis. I've lost track of the times I've spoken the words of the Rite of the Commendation of the Dying, yielding our loved ones to the Lord's care: "Father, into your hands we commend his spirit." Dozens of times, I've made the sign of the cross and spoken a final blessing over the body of the dead, "Now may God the Father who creates this body; may God the Son who redeemed this body with His own precious death; may God the Holy Spirit who sanctified this body in the waters of Holy Baptism, bless and keep these remains until the resurrection of all flesh."

I tell you this so you understand I am no stranger to death and dying. Most of those times, I do so with dry eyes. Yes, I have shed a tear; once or twice I've even had to pause to collect myself, clear my throat, and with a deep breath continue.

But this has hit me hard. All week long, as I've remembered my friend, my throat has gotten tight,  my chest felt heavy, my eyes moistened, and a tear would trickle down my chest. It hurts. My friend has fallen asleep in Jesus.

Oh, I know the answer is in Christ: don't misunderstand me. I know, believe, trust and rely that in Christ's death and resurrection, He has conquered sin, death and the grave. I trust Jesus' promise, "I am the resurrection and the life... He who lives and believes in me will never die." With Martha, I answer Jesus' question, "Do you believe this?" with "Yes!"

But, remember, even after this exchange, when Jesus stood outside his friend's tomb, He wept. Honest tears, hot tears, sad tears. Death isnt supposed to happen. God didn't create man to die; He created man to live. Jesus wept because death was interrupting life.

Yes, He knew He would interrupt death by raizing Lazarus and then with His own resurrection. But in that moment, death hurt.

Death is hurting today. It has all week. I tried and failed to sing "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." Tears ran hot and free. I choked up offering condolences to the family. And when I shook Danny's hand, we were two sons who lost fathers and two men who had both lost friends in each other's fathers.

That's where I am.
This is who I am:
A Christian...
Who hurts..
Trusting in the promise of Jesus...
While knowing His tears.

Ray: the Storyteller

Raymond:
Storyteller & Friend

"Wellllllllll...." If Ray answered you with that word, long-drawn out for about three seconds of your day, you better sit down, because the answer would take a while. It would be worth your time, but you had to slow down. Maybe he did it because the shop was inside of Mickan's curve, forcing traveler and customer to slow down, anyway. Maybe it was because his brain was so full of stories he had to sort them out.  Maybe he wanted you to know for sure you were getting it straight from the horse's mouth. Maybe it was because out in Walburg, folks still greeted each other with a "howdy," a handshake, and a sit-a-spell way of life when a job was done.

I am convinced his motto was "Never tell a two-minute story in two minutes when you can do it in five, unless you're calling the sheriff or the ambulance, and then you better just get to it, because those 911 operators just don't have patience to sit and listen to this story about why we need their help in the first place, although that might be good for them to know about how that time when so & so called and the ambulance had to drive by the house four times - this was back before houses had actual numbers and not just rural route mail box assignments - but this ain't the time for that part of the story, so I reckon y'all better get out here pretty quick, huh?" Or, at least something like that.

The omnipresent matchstick or toothpick would dangle loosely from the corner of his mouth, maybe a throwback to when he and everyone else smoked, and bounce to the cadence of his lower lip, occasionally rolling to the other corner, or being withdrawn and used like an old-school classroom pointer for emphasis.  His brow would furrow in concentration or to show the seriousness of the comment and information he would deliver. Grey coverall sleeves would dance as his hands gestured north, south, east or west to show you where the event happened or the person in question lived or came from.

Setting the hook...

               

But the sound effects were a big part of setting the stage. A single "tick" or "click" of the tongue against the teeth said more than the ominous "dum-dum" of Law and Order, letting the hearer know this was serious stuff. In ancient literature, Shakespeare could have used this sound to begin any of his famous tragedies. This would usually be followed by arms getting crossed, chin lowered slightly toward his chest, and then a baritone rumble, "Let me tell ya..." And he would. He would remember the names, places and details and, with the storyteller's way, he would weave it together so you understood how the event in question touched him, or a family, or one of the churches of the Walburg-Theon-Corn Hill metroplex. He wasn't name dropping, but name telling so you knew these were real people who had known or were experiencing real hurt. To emphasize a point, he would stop talking, purse his lips tight across his teeth - there was that "tick" again - push his head forward and retract it, maybe give a single shake to the side, then clear his throat and come to the sad conclusion, "It was a real hard time for them," repeating it once for emphasis, a half-octave lower, "a real hard time."

But, if it was a comedy, those arms would cross - or not - and a smile would spread over his face. He had Teddy Roosevelt teeth - a big, friendly grin - and they could never hold back the deep guffaw that rumbled out. His eyes lit up and, like a fisherman who just caught the biggest fish ever, he knew he had a good one on his line. His voice would rise and fall, like a fishing pole, keeping tension and giving slack. The storyline would dance up and down, side to side, details here, the setting there, swirling around just a bit so you had it all figured out, letting out a little more information, then reeling you back in for more. The twinkling in his eyes danced like sunlight on the water. A chuckle, or maybe an honest to goodness laugh, would burst out into the open. Now the question arose in the hearer's mind - just a whisper of a hint - is this true, or is it a story? Did Indians really roam Walburg two hundred years ago? Well, I guess it was possible, the hearer thinks. If a story, is it a local joke or is it one of his own invention? Wait - Cockleburr Indians? Why didn't we hear about them in Texas History? Like the eternal question, "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop" - and he always had some of those in a glass candy jar on the counter for kids (of all ages) - the world may never know.

And he loved listening to a good story, too. He was a good listener. If he interrupted you - one arm, suddenly unfolding, hand held out in a wait-a-minute stop sign - it was because he was missing a piece of information and he wanted you to give him the whole story, or maybe he had a tidbit to drop in to fill in your narrative. Maybe it was a person he knew, or a place he had been, or your story intersected with one of his own. It was his way of teaching storytelling, I guess, to help pull it out of you.  If you got him with a good joke, his laughter echoed in the shop. If the story touched him, his voice was thick and nit much more than a whisper. More than once, I saw a tear in the corner of his eye. More than once, he would say, "I gotta remember that one to tell ol' so & so..."

I had the privilege of listening to this storyteller for the good part of five years, working for him summers, Saturdays, and vacations. In my line of work, being able to tell a story is important. If folks don't want to listen, they'll never hear what I'm saying.

Last fall, I met a funeral director. We were talking about strange funeral stories, killing time - you should pardon the expression - before the family arrived at the church. He told me his story; it took about two minutes. I think he was of the Joe Friday school - just the facts. I knew I had to up my game to hook Joe Friday into the narrative. I invited him to have a seat. "Got a minute?" I said. "Might as well sit down." Then I got to it. I crossed my arms, a smile crept across my face, and a single guffaw erupted from deep within my chest. "Wellllllllllllll," I started, and like Jerry Clower (who was another good storyteller)  would say, I shucked that corn down to the cob. He interrupted me, once, with the observation, "That wasn't right!" I knew I had the fish on the line. Details, voice, information...all following the master storyteller. Ten minutes later, he was slapping his thigh, laughing. He looked at me. "You're a good storyteller," he said.

Thanks, I said. I learned from one of the best.

House of Palms Speech: Changing the Story, One Life at a Time

Board members, honored guests, and friends: Thank you for the honor of being with you tonight. It is a privilege being here to share my story with you.

I first heard of House of Palms a little over a year ago. Some of Barbara’s friends attend my church and, through them, I met Barbara. If you’ve not met her, imagine a woman with the energy of a perpetual motion machine, the warmth of a spring day, the tenderness of a grandmother, the faith of Ruth, the determination of the Little Engine that Could and an enthusiasm for this project that can only be described as infectious. I say this because I caught it as well. The more she talked, the more interested I got in House of Palms and thought this would be a mission opportunity for our church to help make a difference in the lives of some special folks.

So, I connected Barbara with our ladies’ group at Zion Lutheran in Mission Valley. Within five minutes after Barbara left, the ladies set the goal to purchase one of the needed washer/dryer units for the House.  Last month, Zion did a fundraiser to benefit one of our families.  The Lord provided mightily, and we exceeded our goal by 40%. I’m both humbled and proud to say that with no question, the abundance was passed on to House of Palms. If you are here tonight, on the fence of whether to support House of Palms, if Barbara calls, emails or knocks on your door, just give up and say “yes.” She is an irresistible force. For the record, if she leaves House of Palms, I call first dibs on her to chair our church’s Stewardship Drive.

Let me tell you why House of Palms is so important to me as a Lutheran pastor.  First and foremost, I believe life is a gift of God and we, as God’s people, are called to preserve and protect life – including the lives of the unborn. We live in a world of convenience, expediency, and selfishness; where the wants of the unholy trinity of me, myself and I trump the needs of others; where the wants of the greater and stronger overwhelm the needs of the lesser and the weaker. No where is this seen in a more demonstrable way than in the lives of the unborn children. House of Palms will provide a loving, caring and supportive alternative to an option that otherwise might be forced on these young girls by a parent, a boyfriend, or even their own, terrified conscience that is afraid of tomorrow.

On January 22, 1973, the Supreme Court handed down the Roe v. Wade ruling that legalized abortion in the United States. In the forty-five years since then, the Centers for Disease Control estimates that about 50 million babies were not born due to elective abortion procedures. Fifty million: that’s a 5 followed by seven zeros. Let’s try to put that in perspective for a second. According to www.census.gov, the state of Texas has about 27 million citizens. That means that for every Texan, two children were not allowed to live since 1973. To make it a little more local, there are approximately 100,000 people in Victoria County. That means for every citizen of our county, five hundred babies have been aborted.

I was born on January 29, 1974 – exactly a year and a week after the Court’s decision. I could have been part of that very sad statistic. I could have been that part of the lost generation after Roe v. Wade. While that’s technically true of all of us born after January 23, 1973, I think it’s a little closer to home for me. Let me explain.

Thanks to modern medical technology, parents today can see a remarkably clear and amazingly detailed 3-D picture of their child in the mother’s womb. In 1974 such technological wonders didn’t exist, at least not in rural Iowa where my parents lived. But, if it did, it would have shown a couple of strange things about my little body.

By definition my body was physically handicapped with birth defects. I say “by definition,” because I’ve never considered myself “handicapped” nor having “birth defects.” Regardless my opinion, the fact is that my body is malformed. I have no toes on either foot. My toe-less feet look like the forefront of my foot was traumatically amputated. My feet are stumps that can fit on a 3x5 note card.  Both of my hands are dwarfed. My left hand has full fingers, but my 14-year-old son now has longer fingers than I do. Where your middle knuckles allow your fingers to bend and flex, that is where the fingers on my right hand stop and, although I can bend my right thumb, I cannot flex my right fingers at all.  This wasn’t Thalidomide-induced, or an umbilical cord that strangled a limb. There was something wrong - a flaw - in the genetic code that makes fingers and toes. 

One of the arguments offered by pro-choice groups is that children who will be born with mental or physical handicaps will, theoretically, have an altered, lesser quality of life than “normal” babies. Because of this, they suggest these children should be aborted so they (or their parents) won’t have to suffer. Let’s apply this theory to my story. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that modern technology was available in 1974 and it showed my physical malformation. Further, and again for the sake of argument, let’s say that Mom and Dad were counseled that my birth defects would impact my quality of life with physical and emotional difficulties. The conversation could have been as bad as a doctor telling them this: “We can tell that your son is handicapped.  He might not be able to walk or run; he might never be able to throw a ball or manipulate anything with his right hand.  He will certainly be different than other children. Do you want your son growing up to be the one every other child stares at?” What if Mom and Dad agreed and decided to abort me? My family of 6, growing up, would have been a family of 5…well, perhaps 4 had they followed the same line of thinking for my sister when they discovered she has dwarfism on both of her hands, also.

My sister and I would be nameless statistics scored by the CDC.

So, I thank God every day for a lot of things. I thank God that Mom and Dad were blissfully ignorant of my situation and that they chose to have and love a baby who was physically different. But, was I really that much different? They never treated me that way. I played baseball, football, softball, and racquetball. I played trumpet in the high school marching band. I mowed lawns, hauled hay each summer, and trespassed – I checked, the statute of limitations has expired on this– across many a farmer’s fields to hunt rabbits and squirrels and go fishing. I’m good with my hands, typing quickly and accurately, and untangling necklaces for my wife and daughters. I’ve worn out three sets of prosthetic feet since 1996. I’ve held hands with a beautiful woman who became my wife. We’ve walked on beaches and mountains, stood in deserts and forests together. When Laura told me she was pregnant, I prayed that our children would be “normal;” I wept with joy when the sonograms showed all three of our children to have normal hands and feet; then I counted each precious finger and toe on their newborn feet multiple times to be sure we didn’t miss something. On Sundays, I stand in front of a congregation of saints of God and get to tell them of God’s love for them in Christ Jesus. I guess I understand the sentiment behind “quality” when it comes to life but, remember: for there to be any quality at all, there must first be life.  All these things were done because my parents weren’t worried about my quality of life. They were simply thankful God had given them a life. Incidentally, my name, Jonathan, means “God gives.”

Don’t misunderstand me: I wouldn’t wish my hands or feet on anyone. Without toes, the shock of walking and running transfers straight to my hips and spine. I have multiple herniated lumbar discs and my back, knees and hips are starting to hurt most days. Although I wear a full-foot prosthetic, my gait is odd.  Standing for long periods of time is uncomfortable – I guarantee I’ll never preach more than 20 minutes. Buying shoes, even with my prosthetics, and finding gloves that fit is a challenge. Over the years, plenty of people have given me “the look” when we shake hands for the first time. At the swimming pool, people stare when I walk by.  My nephew once quipped, “Uncle Jon – push your toes out!” And I’ll never forget when my own brother, when he was 3 or 4, bluntly asked – as only a young child could do – “What is wrong with you?”

But, while I wouldn’t wish them on anyone else, I thank God for my hands and my feet. I see them as they are: imperfect, but part of what makes me, me. In high school, I wanted to be a Marine, but the Marines couldn’t take me. I tried the Army, the Navy and even the Air Force – no one would take me. Yet, the Lord had already taken me – hands, feet, and all my members and senses – and made me His. Called His child through Holy Baptism, He later called me into the Holy Ministry. As a pastor, I’ve stood next to newly-minted parents with their own baby, and I’ve sat next to parents, weeping, because their child died all-too-soon. My hands have poured baptismal water over a baby’s head and poured sand upon the grave of the elderly who have died in the faith. With my dwarfed hand, I’ve made the sign of the cross in holy absolution and in blessing.

It’s those hands and those feet that have brought me here this evening. That’s my story. Why are you here? Why have your feet carried you here this evening; why have your hands accepted the invitation to be part of this event? Some of you are here because you already have a passion for this project and are already giving of your time, skills, and financial gifts to see the House of Palms succeed. Some of you are being recognized in a special way for what you have done to take this from an idea, to a structured plan to the brink of dedication and opening for business. Thank you. Still others are here because this is new to you - you’ve heard about the House of Palms and you’re curious about what it’s about or how you can help. Let me tell you: you have the unique opportunity to be involved in making a direct, immediate, and loving difference in the lives of these girls and their babies.

And, maybe for some of you, you are here because you see some of your own story reflected here and it’s drawing up old memories and hurts. Perhaps your story is similar to that of the girls who will be living in the House, and you wish you had a place like this for yourself, or for a daughter, or for a granddaughter or a dear friend. Perhaps years ago, you were pushed to make a decision about a baby, one which you still struggle with. Or, perhaps you were the one who pushed your girlfriend or daughter or wife to make that choice and that ache still throbs in your chest.  If this is you, and your conscience is burdened by your past, I would count it an honor and privilege to listen to your story, with care and compassion, without judgement or hatred, provide pastoral care in the name of Christ Jesus for you.

Whether you are a new supporter of House of Palms or you were here on the ground-floor or you are somewhere in-between, you get to be part of another story. You are helping a mother’s life-giving choice to be a little easier by helping provide them have a safe place to live. You will help them celebrate their child’s birth instead of wondering how to survive. You can help a child begin a life and grow so that he will one day play baseball with your grandson, she will march in the band with your great-grand daughter, he might drive a tractor in the field of your family farm, she can work in your family business while she saves to buy her first car. Maybe, just maybe, one of these kids might grow up and figure out how to make missing feet and fingers grow. 

A builder builds a house. A house is a thing, an object: it is shelter. We have the house. Your support will make this house into a home. A home is a living, breathing place where a family lives, where love, mercy and grace are practiced. This will, indeed, be a unique family of single moms and babies, but it will be a family. This House of Palms will also be a unique home because it will give these girls safe a place to receive Godly, unconditional, sacrificial love for themselves and for their babies. They will receive encouragement, support and help for their choice of life. While none of us can guarantee this will be easy for these girls and babies, your help makes it easier. Giving them a safe place to live means they don’t have to sacrifice the life of a child to please or appease someone else for the sake of convenience.

In your gifts of compassion, given to these who our world deems to be the least, you act with the loving hands of Christ to these girls. They may never know you; their babies probably will not be named after you. But these mothers and their babies will know someone loves. And one day, those mothers can sit and tell their children a story that starts, “Once upon a time, God brought together a bunch of strangers in Victoria, Texas, who, without meeting us, loved and cared about us to make sure that we had a home to live in.”  I can’t wait to hear how that story will end.

Thank you.

"According to the Word of the Lord..." I Kings 17: 8-16

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Old Testament lesson, 1 Kings 17:8-16.

What would you have done if you were in this would a woman's shoes?

Elijah has spoken the word of the Lord against King Ahab, king of Israel. He “did evil in the sight of the Lord, more than all who were before him.” That’s saying something. The Scriptures then add, “Then, as if it had been a light thing for him to walk in the sins of Jeroboam…he took for his wife Jezebel…” Combined, their sins against God, and leading the people of Israel against God, were so great that the Lord commanded Elijah to prophesy that a drought would come across the land. The rivers dried up. The creeks dried up. The wells dried up. The fields were scorched. Crops died. Famine was widespread. The people of Israel suffered tremendously for their sins and the sins of their king. If Old Mother Hubbard were alive, not only was the cupboard bare, so was the water jug.

There was no FEMA. The Red Cross, UNICEF, World Health Organization - none of these things existed. The National Guard wasn’t going to show up with cases of MREs and bottled water. If you were out of food and water, and didn’t have any way to acquire more – remember, there wasn’t any food - you would die. Remember, also, she was a widow so she was without support. Her son was apparently too young to be the man of the house. Even if there were family members around, how could they help? They were busy trying to survive, too. The situation was desperate, to put it mildly.

So, what would you have done?

That was this woman’s plight. We might describe her as a glass half empty kind of woman, but that would be giving her way to much credit: the jar wasn’t even half full. All she had was a handful of flour and a drizzle of oil left and she planned to make a little snack-sized bread to share with her son. Did you catch the detail about how little there was – she only needed to gather a couple of sticks for enough fire to bake it. That’s it. And then they would have to sit and wait to starve to death. Miserable plan, I know, but what would you have done? I know what I would be doing…I would be pacing the floor, then stop and measure and re-measure the flour and the oil to make sure I had it figured right. I would have lost sleep for days, trying to figure out how I would make this work. I would probably cry, pound my fist, and rub the beard right off of my chin.

And then this stranger shows up and tells her to bake him the bread, first? Who is this guy? A stranger, a traveler, a bum? He’s some kind of itinerant prophet, apparently, invoking the name of God – which is a rarity itself in Israel under King Ahab – and saying the flour and oil won’t run out. Still, he thinks he’s more important, more special than her own flesh-and-blood son? Feed him before giving her son a final meal? Now, what would you do?  Show him the door, right? Tell him to go down the street and ask the next family – maybe they have more to spare. What would you do?

This woman, who is a glass-half-empty kind of woman, thankfully listened to Elijah. We don’t know what she was thinking. She might have been mixing, rolling, patting, and baking that little loaf with a lump in her throat and a knot in her gut fearing what was happening; her eyes may have been wet with tears knowing what awaited her own son; she may not have been rejoicing, “Oh, good! This is a prophet of God!” But she did as she was commanded. She poured, she mixed, she patted, she baked and she fed Elijah. And, wonder of wonders, joy of joys, miracle of miracles, when she looked there was just enough flour and oil for her son and she to eat as well. “The jar of flour was not spent, neither did the jug of oil become empty, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah.”

“According to the Word of the Lord…” When the Lord speaks, that which seems impossible is done. It creates from nothing. It multiplies the meager. It blesses that which is imperfect and makes it beautiful. When the Lord speaks, that which seems impossible is done.

“According to the Word of the Lord…” Don’t ever forget how powerful that Word is. That same Word of God, that same voice of God which spoke light into the darkness, that created everything from nothing, that made man in His image, that same voice of God speaks to you as well. The word of the Lord spoke into the darkness of sin and death and called you with water into a baptismal relationship with Jesus. The word of the Lord is preached through the voice of a sinful man, yet that voice is used to create and strengthen faith in Christ.  The word of the Lord declares to you that all of your sins are forgiven in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. The word of the Lord speaks with a piece of bread and a sip of wine and you receive Christ’s body and blood, given and shed for you, for forgiveness of sins and the strengthening of your faith. The word of the Lord is spoken to you in blessing, encouraging you as you go home, enabling you to begin and end each day trusting in His name and His promise.

People have argued for centuries whether the glass is half full or half empty. The answer isn’t in it’s relative fullness or emptiness. The answer is in it’s ability to be refilled.

Luther said at the end of his life, “We are all beggars.” It’s the truth. Before God, we are as empty as that poor widow’s flour jar. We have nothing to offer God. Yet He does something with His Word that we cannot do for ourselves. He forgives us. He baptizes us, joins us to Jesus’ death and life.  We stand in the presence of Almighty God, by grace through faith in Christ, and in the midst of Sin’s famine, to our utter lack and emptiness, to our spiritual hunger and thirst for righteousness, God in Christ fills our sack. He gives us the Bread of Life, Christ, living Bread come down from heaven. He fills our empty sack so it’s slopping over and overflowing. And, as we go through the week, the sack is slowly emptied. Some gets used when we argue with our spouse. A little more gets consumed each day at work and at school. A whole bunch is used up following that car down Navarro at lunchtime. A little more is used up at the doctor’s office, and at the bank, and at the principal’s office. And by Saturday, you’re looking for the crumbs at the bottom of the bag. With repentance, knowing you are a sinner who deserves nothing at all in that sack, but with faith that trusts Jesus is going to refill it, you come back here to the Lord’s house, empty sack in hand. And you see something remarkable…you’re surrounded by brothers and sisters in Christ whose sacks are also emptied. Nothing in your sack you bring, simply to the cross you cling, knowing Jesus is going to fill it again. Why? Because it’s His promise…according to the Word of the Lord.  

All Saints Day With Tears in Our Eyes: 1 John 3:1-3

Grace to you and peace from God our father and from our Lord and savior Jesus Christ Amen.

Dear friends in Christ Jesus our Lord: A blessed All Saints’ Day to you. All Saints Day isn’t like Christmas – we don’t decorate for it. It’s not like Easter – we don’t dress in our finest clothes. It’s not like Epiphany, or Lent or Advent, those long seasons that lead to great festival celebrations, either. It’s a uniquely Christian commemoration, one that – thankfully – hasn’t been commercialized. It remains in the realm of the sacred, the holy, the consecrated. I am glad it does.

As much as I love Christmas, or Easter, or Pentecost, I especially love and appreciate All Saints Day. It stands as a day of reverence as we remember the saints of God who have fallen asleep in Christ over the past twelve months since All Saints Day of last year. All Saints Day reconnects us to the faithful who have gone before us as we remember them, their lives of faithfulness in Christ, and the witness they bore in life and in death.

I’ve stood at the graveside of brothers and sisters in Christ some sixty times and commended their bodies to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Children and parents, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, wives and husbands all laid to rest, trusting in the promise of Jesus, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who lives and believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live. Do you believe this?” And with those words read for us, we answer with Mary and Martha, usually in the silence of our minds, “Yes, Lord, we believe you are the Son of God.” Yes, we do so in Easter hope and confidence, as the hymn sings:

“And now the Savior is raised up, so when a Christian dies,
we mourn, yet look to God in hope – in Christ the saints arise” (LSB 486 v.2b).

We can make this confession because, as St. John says in this morning’s Epistle lesson, we are called children of God. And, remember, when God speaks it is most certainly true. Being a child of God is not just mere wishful thinking: it is truth. God declares it: you are His child, through faith in Christ Jesus. United with Christ in Holy Baptism, you are part of an inclusive group of people. You are part of the church.

Church has a lot of meanings. We talk about the church building – let’s go decorate the church for Christmas. We talk about a congregation – What church is that? Oh, that’s Zion Lutheran Church in Mission Valley. We might even talk about a church body, a denomination, such as the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod. These are all good uses of the word. Nothing wrong with it. But never forget that first, and foremost, when we speak of the church we speak about people, the body of Christ.

In the Greek New Testament, this is called the ekklesia, which means “the called out ones.” In our modern usage, we don’t like being called out. Your boss calls you out for being late; your teacher calls you out for inappropriate behavior; your spouse calls you out for spending too much money. In this case, though, being called out is a blessing. This begs a few questions: Called from where? Who called us? What are we called to do?

In his first Epistle, Peter answers the question this way: “But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession, to proclaim the virtues of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy” (I Peter 2:9-10). You are called by God, through Christ, to be His own dear people. You are called out of darkness, that is out of a world of wanton sinful selfishness, and into His light so that you might proclaim the love and mercy of God in Christ. And, most importantly, you are called a holy people.

What does it mean to be holy? We usually think of holy as being sinless, but at it’s root it means set apart. It pairs with church. The set-apart, called-out ones.

But, unfortunately this is where we sometimes get in trouble when we think about saints. We think that a saint is holier than any of us can possibly be. We consider the lives of the men and women whom the church refers to as saints – St. Peter, St. John, St. Paul, St. Mary, St. Joan of Ark, just to name a few – and we rationalize we aren’t worthy of tying their sandals, let alone being placed on the same pedestal as they are. We look at their lives of faithfulness and confession in wonder and amazement, and consider our own plight as being unworthy.

Remember: when God declares, it is true. God declares you holy in Christ. God declares you a saint through faith in Christ. In Christ – see, that’s the key. We will confess this again in the Creed: “I acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins and I look for – I yearn for - the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.” There it is: the forgiveness of sins. This is what makes us saints: Christ’s once-for-all satisfactory holy death payment for all of my unholiness. If there is no Jesus, there are no saints; none of his holiness, none of our holiness. But there is Jesus, there is His holiness, there is His forgiveness imparted fully, freely, richly through baptismal waters onto you. So you are holy - you are set apart by God, by His grace, through faith in Christ. In Christ, you are holied, you are sanctified, you are sainted in Christ Jesus.

What does a saint look like? Look around: go ahead. Look at those who are around you. You see a snapshot of the saints of God. You remember the uses of “church?”  I say a snapshot because this church (congregation) only represents a small sliver of the whole Christian Church on earth and in heaven. Last Tuesday I was at a pastor’s conference in San Antonio hosted by our new District president. Most of us were Anglo men of Germanic or Wendish heritage – much like Zion, if you add in a few Czechs. But there was a small group who came from Mexico; there was a missionary from Germany; there were two Brazilians who were supposed to be with us, but they came down with the flu and – thankfully – stayed home. There were a half-dozen women from the District office who were there. There were members of the hosting congregation who cared for us. It was a bigger snapshot of the church on earth. Now, keep blowing that picture up…the church knows no limits: all people, all nations, all skin colors, all languages, male, female, adults, children, infants to elderly, all united through faith in Christ. Now, you’re getting close to what the church – the called out, set apart saints of God - looks like.

And, there is even more.  And, here is why All Saints Day is so important for us who still live and breathe out lives of faith and witness this morning. We are reminded that the church exists also into eternity. In the first reading from Revelation, St. John saw the heavenly multitudes that no one could number, the ones who are coming out of the great tribulation. In other words, the Spirit allowed him to see the faithfully departed who are already at peace with Christ.  In Christ, you are united to these saints of God as well. In the old Scandanavian Lutheran Churches, the communion rail was a half-circle. The design was intentional: the idea is that you imagine the remainder of the communion rail continuing through time and space into heaven where the saints join with you in celebrating the resurrection. We will confess this in the communion liturgy, “Therefore with angels and archangels and with all the company of heaven we laud and magnify your glorious name, ever more praising you and singing…” and then we join in singing the sanctus, “Holy, holy, holy Lord God of power and might.” And, in that moment, the entire church on earth and in heaven rejoices and you are united, through Christ, with those who have departed the faith.

But, as St. Paul says in 1 Cor. 13:12, “We see through a mirror darkly.” Yes, we admit this. We know the grave is conquered and blown open by Christ’s Easter triumph…but, when we stand at the graveside sometimes it’s hard to see anything but the grave itself and the body of our loved one lying there in peaceful rest and repose as if asleep. Don’t look at the grave…look through the grave. So, we follow in the footsteps of the saints who have gone before us, who followed the saints before them, who followed in the footsteps of Christ. Confess it in the Creed as they did before you – I believe in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.”

I was finishing my last year of seminary when my dad died on the morning of April 25, 2000. I preached that morning in chapel, in fact – ironically, it was the commemoration of St. Mark the Evangelist, two days after Easter. Now, when I didn’t find out Dad had died until after chapel was completed and a friend found me, delivering the message relayed through a friend. When Laura got to campus, we made our way to the Dean of Students office. He started to complement me on the sermon, but I cut him off and told him my tragic news. I remember he deflated and flopped into his desk chair. After a moment, he said this: “Now, you are called to live the faith you just preached.” This is what All Saints Day does for us, the Christian Church on Earth: it gives us the opportunity to live the faith that was taught to us by those who have gone before us. Many of us do it with tears – and that’s OK. The tears stand as testimony of our love for the departed.

The hymns of All Saints Day always get me. They keep us leaning forward, looking towards the day of Christ’s blessed return. We’ll join with the countless throngs that St. John saw, with holy and whole bodies, raised and glorious, the consummation of Easter that never ends.

But, lo, there breaks a yet more glorious day: the saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of Glory passes on His way! Alleluia! Alleluia! (LSB 677 v3).

But we’re not there, yet. We still wait, in eager expectation for the return of Jesus. As we wait, we continue to sing:

Oh, that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face!
Clothed then in the blood-washed linen,
How I’ll sing Thy wondrous grace!
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take all sin and death away!
With your angels come and raise us,
Bring the realms of endless day. (LSB 686 v. 4, revised)

And the Spirit and the Bride say, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Come.” Amen.