Preaching Thoughts on a Non-Preaching Sunday

Today the children of this congregation are doing a musical based on the book of Jonah, on the same day that the gospel reading is Luke's parable of the prodigal. But for this largely accidental pairing, I don't know that I would ever have contemplated the similarities between these two stories. Both the younger son of the parable and Jonah act contrary to what is expected of them. Jonah flees the call to be a prophet, and the younger son refuses to act the part of a good son. And both are eventually rerouted by events and circumstances.

If that were not enough, both the parable and the book of Jonah end with uncertainty. Will the older brother come into the party thrown for his younger brother? Will Jonah come around to God's willingness to save the people and animals of Nineveh? (Curiously, Jonah gets to play both the disobedient role and the older-sibling-like role of one offended by God's mercy and grace.)

Both these parables are fairly well known. The parable of the prodigal is much beloved, although there is a tendency to ignore the fact that most of us church folks are more older sibling sorts. We someone manage to hear the story from the younger brother's perspective, even while we run our congregations like elder siblings, insisting that church exists primarily for us elder types, not the wayward folks out there.

So too the story of Jonah, one of the Bible's more remarkable parables, is known in a stereotyped way. People know about Jonah being swallowed by the fish, but know little about the story's playful wrestling with running away from God's call and despising God's love given to those we hate.

As I approach my first anniversary as pastor of this congregation, I find that issues of call are taking center stage. This includes my own sense of call but also the call God places on this congregation. And it seems to me that this morning's two parables offer cautionary tales of sorts. They invite us to consider the ways in which we function like Jonah or like an older brother, unable to embrace the grace of God that is scandalous and offensive. And so they invite us to consider where we, who like to think of ourselves as God's people, are found to be opposing God's plans.

But most of all, these two stories remind us that God's grace will have its own way. Wayward siblings and Ninevites will be rescued, renewed, and restored. There will be rejoicing and celebration as grace has its way. And the only question, in these two parables at least, is whether we will join the celebration.

Redeeming Church

A Twitter comment about pastors caught my eye the other day. In part, it said this, "Great post. Church has dropped ball. I blame clergy. Timid, inward focus." It referred to a blog post on home foreclosures and the faith community's failure to see this as a justice issue that demands our attention. (You can read the blog post here.) But without regard to the blog piece itself, I was struck by the reading assigning the blame to clergy.

It has become a kind of conventional wisdom that the gridlock in Washington, DC is because everyone is beholding to some special interest in order to get reelected. Whether that interest is the NRA, a labor union, or some ideological position, the conventional wisdom goes, "They can't get reelected if they alienate their key supporters, corporate donors, well-funded lobby, etc. And so they can't do what they think is right or best for fear of losing the next election."

Presbyterian pastors don't exactly run for reelection, but congregations vote on our pay every year. And of course that salary comes from the voluntary contributions of members, so we have the same sort of political pressures on us as members of Congress. We can't simply do what we think right. Actually we can, but there may be consequences.

This system works pretty well when pastors, church leaders, and members are all in basic agreement about the mission and purpose of the congregation. Needless to say, this is not always the case. And if the Church fails to be Christ in and for the world as we are called to be, there is probably enough blame to go around for both pastors and congregations.

We pastors get comfortable with our churchy patterns: getting ready for weekly worship, managing the institutional apparatus of a congregation, attending meetings, visiting people, and for this getting a regular salary, health-care plan, and a pension. We Presbyterians actually have a stellar pension plan. Wouldn't want to jeopardize that.

Congregations have their own churchy patterns: "going to church" on Sundays, helping keep up the buildings, having fellowship and learning activities, and, if there is any money and energy left over, doing some "mission." A lot of folks find this a very comfortable set of patterns. And like pastors, they may be disinclined to rock the boat over any perceived deficiencies.

“If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” So says Jesus in today's gospel. But truth is often much less comfortable than the routines we know and enjoy. In fact, churches and pastors are sometimes downright allergic to the truth.

In previous congregations I've served, I've had members praise "our great youth program" which had all but disbanded a couple years previous. Similarly I've been told about the 100s of children at our Vacation Bible School, only to discover that such numbers were last reached in 1967. Not that I'm immune to such wishful thinking or denial. I recall being stunned by the truth of attendance and giving trends on a graph charting both over an extended period of years. I had been there while it was going on, but somehow missed the truth right in front of me.

It is striking what settled things church congregations and pastors often are. Especially when you consider that our founder proclaims a kingdom, a new reign or realm of God where things will be new and different, where God's will done on earth, how can churches simply become a part of the cultural fabric? But we have, and we like it. We like the familiarity, the comfort, the pension.

“If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” If you continue in my word... Nothing there about continuing what we are doing as though it were timeless. Rather it is about continuing in Jesus' word and finding there a truth that frees us. Frees us from old patterns that imprison us and make us timid perhaps?

I started off this post with a comment from Twitter, so it seems appropriate to circle back and say that I see a lot of Twitter comments about church. Many of the people I follow on Twitter are connected to church in some way, so that's not a big surprise. But a lot of those Tweets wonder if Jesus meant to start a church. They wonder if church as we know it is more hindrance to the ministry of Jesus than help. Troubling thoughts for someone with a church pension.

Is church as we know it and do it something Jesus wants? If the answer is "No," in full or in part, are there changes that can be made to pull us back to what Jesus does want? If the church is not what Jesus meant it to be, is it redeemable? Can it become what it should be?

Answering such questions surely requires us to continue in Jesus' word, to dwell with Jesus and his teachings and discover the truth. If, as I believe, the church is redeemable, surely it will take a deep engagement with Jesus' words so that our priorities begin to look a little more like his.

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Loving Church Bullies

"But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us." Regardless of how you understand the mechanics of the cross, this statement from today's epistle insists that Jesus is, in some way, God's intention to reconcile with us, no matter what it takes. Restored relationship with God isn't a reward for being good or for believing the right things. God has already done everything possible to reconcile with us, regardless of who we are. We simply need to realize how much God loves and desires us.

If Christians can claim to be anything special, it is to claim that we have experienced this reconciling love of God, an experience that  has tremendous implications for all our relationships. As the writer of 1 John says, "Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another."

I suspect that most of you have at least one person you can't stand, who drives you crazy, who you go to great lengths to avoid. I sometimes think such situations are even more common in church congregations. Churches have a remarkable knack for enabling and even encouraging anti-social, dysfunctional, and manipulative behaviors. Because most congregations have a cardinal rule of "Be nice," bullies, antagonists, and people with no power anywhere else discover that churches are loathe to call them out on their behaviors. Indeed such folks often occupy key leadership roles, and they can contribute to premature departures of pastors and other church staff.

Of course such folks sometimes go too far, creating a showdown of sorts. Tempers flare. Words are exchanged. But this upsets the culture of nice which must be restored, and peacemakers will work diligently to get one party (rarely the bully) to extend an olive branch. And "nice" rules once more.

Sometimes churches seem to have substituted "Be nice," for "Love one another." Perhaps such niceness is a sort of love, a bit like that of a doting grandparent who spoils a grandchild and is oblivious to any and all misbehavior. But such love is nothing like the costly love of God in Jesus. For that matter, it is nothing like the love of a good parent.

If you were a parent, and learned that your child was a terrible bully at school, tormenting and even physically injuring other children, what would you do? Perhaps there would be some temptation to excuse this behavior, but surely most people would want to correct it. True parental love demands such action.

So how are we to love church bullies and troublemakers? I think it starts with acknowledging that some of our "Be nice" behaviors are not about love at all. They are about avoiding the hard work of real love. It is easier and less painful for us to ignore them, avoid them, or let them have their way. Unless they get us so mad we explode, and of course very little that looks anything like love often comes from that.

How do people love one another in your faith community? More to the point, how do people love bullies, antagonists, and troublemakers? 

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Too Smart To See the Messiah

Nothing new in this observation: The folks who gave Jesus the most trouble were religious leaders. They were the learned folks, the people who had studied their Bibles and understood church doctrine. Anyone who knows Jesus' story knows this, but I'm not sure we always take it to heart. Do we who know our Bibles, who've learned doctrine, who are heavily invested in the church, every consider what it would be like if Jesus showed up now? Would we recognize him? Would we embrace him? Would we resist him?

There's an interesting bit in today's gospel where the Pharisees dismiss the crowds that are drawn to Jesus. "But this crowd, which does not know the law — they are accursed.” These devout, followers of the Bible can't figure out how to fit Jesus into their church doctrines, into their reading of Scripture, into their carefully crafted and sophisticated view of things. Perhaps those dumb, uninformed peasants who didn't understand the Bible could be fooled, but they are way too smart to be taken in by Jesus.

I am, too. Not that I'm going to reject Jesus outright, nor do I need to. With Jesus not being physically present to stir up trouble, I'm free to wear the messiah label, calling myself a Christian (Christ is simply the Greek form of messiah.) without actually doing what Jesus says or even thinking it's a good idea.

I'm too smart to think Jesus really meant it when he told me not to invite people to my dinner party who might invite me to theirs in return. "But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind." Maybe such lines worked 2000 years ago, but not in my world. And I can't really love my enemies or act like other people are as important as me. My daughters never would have attended a nice suburban school system so they could get ahead of folks who couldn't afford to live there if I had thought that way.  Maybe Jesus could resonate with simple peasants from the 1st Century, but I'm too smart and sophisticated for such things.

And so I'll keep thinking that Jesus was a good guy with some good ideas. I'll keep looking for some spiritual nuggets in the words of the Bible. But I'm way too smart actually to follow him.

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Comfort for Hire

I did a graveside funeral service this morning for someone I did not know, someone who wasn't a member of this congregation. I had received a call from the funeral home. They wanted a Presbyterian pastor, and I fit the bill. The whole thing had a bit of a mercenary feel to is, and perhaps I was trying to assuage such feelings when I insisted the funeral home return the fee they had already charged the family for my honorarium. (I think I offended the funeral home employee when I said I would confirm with the family that this fee had been refunded.)

When I got to the funeral home prior to the service (they are located on the cemetery grounds), I found a room being prepared for a reception to follow the graveside service. After meeting the family I looked around to fill the time until we went to the graveside. And so I discovered that catered receptions were one of the services this funeral home offers to families. The "tastefully" displayed advertising for this service was hard to miss. And the layout of the facility was clearly designed to allow this on a large or small scale.

I had never seen this before, which may reveal nothing more than the lack of such practices in Raleigh, NC or Columbus, OH, the only places I served as a pastor before coming to the DC area. Regardless, I found myself wondering about a funeral home providing a "service" that in another time or place would have come from a faith community or from friends and neighbors.

Perhaps it is simply the very diverse and transient nature of this area, but my heart ached just a bit at the situation. Was there no community to provide comfort and care to this family? Could they only find such care for hire?

I don't know, and I wasn't about to ask the family. But it got me wondering about the level of community and care people experience in the typical church congregation. I've known many people who have felt very cared for at a time of loss, but often they have a long association with that church. What about folks who are new to a congregation? And I suspect this question may have different dynamics based on the size of the congregation.

There was a time when people were less transient, and it was more likely that multiple generations would live and die in the same congregation. In such circumstances, communities of caring could emerge in a fairly organic way. Over long years of association and friendships, a natural community emerged. Such communities can develop regardless of faith. It has happened in union halls and Elks Clubs right along with congregations. But surely church communities are supposed to be more than a natural development that grows from long association.

I wonder if this isn't a big issue for churches in an age when so many people are transient and have so little in the way of roots. If the church is to be the body of Christ, then it seems to me that people should encounter something of Christ's self-giving love the moment they arrive, and not after they are well enough known.

One of the things I love about baptism is the notion of it being an adoption ceremony. In baptism we are joined to Christ, and so we become his sisters and brothers, meaning, of course, that we become sisters and brothers to all those other siblings of Jesus in the church.

So if we are in some sense family, how are we to insure that people experience the sort of love and care one might expect from a reasonably functional family? And without having to pay for it.

Sermon video: If Only I Had a Cowboy Hat

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Sermon: If Only I Had a Cowboy Hat

Today's worship included the Lord's Supper and the ordination and installation of Elders and Deacons, making for this rather brief sermon.

Isaiah 55:1-9

If Only I Had a Cowboy Hat

James Sledge                                                                                       March 3, 2013

There’s been a lot in the news lately about changing the offensive name of the Washington  NFL team. I try not to say the nickname, but the discussion recalls my childhood, a different time when cowboys and Indians were movie and TV staples.

Cowboys were everywhere in the 1950s and 60s, and my brother and friends and I all had holsters and plastic six-shooters. I also had a pair of pointy-toed cowboy boots, and at some point decided I needed to complete the look with a cowboy hat. I had a toy cowboy hat, but I wanted the real thing, and they had them in the Sears, Roebuck & Company catalog.

For those too young to recall such things, the Sears catalog was the closest thing we had to internet shopping. It was a huge book. You could find almost anything in the Sears catalog, and they had genuine cowboy hats, right there in the section with saddles and bridles and barbed wire and other things that real cowboys might need.

My parents wouldn’t buy it for me though, and so I began saving my money. With a 25 cents a week allowance, it took a long time save the $8.00 or so, but I saved and saved, and finally had enough. My mother ordered it for me from the catalog, and then I waited. It seemed to take forever. I’m not sure I ever anticipated something so intently. O how different and grand my life was going to be when I got that real, genuine, cowboy hat.

Reluctant Prophets and Cheap Grace

When I first arrived at seminary in 1992, the school did many typical, orientation-type activities to help incoming students get to know one another and learn about life at that seminary. We had a picnic and other social events. We got a tour of the campus and met some of the professors and administrators.  And we did some "ice-breakers," those social interaction exercises that force you to move around and tell others something about yourself.

One of these exercises was to pick the biblical character you most identified with, and then to gather in small groups where you all shared something about your choice. After a few minutes everyone had to find a new group and share the same information, a dance that went on for several rotations.

Nothing particularly memorable about the activity itself. In fact, I doubt I would even recall it but for one fact. It seemed like nearly everyone had picked Jeremiah, the prophet who occupies the daily lectionary's Old Testament readings for the moment.

I suspect that this arose mostly from the opening of the book of Jeremiah where God calls the prophet but he objects. "Ah, Lord GOD! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy." (This complaint probably refers not to Jeremiah's being an actual child but to his being young and inexperienced.) Presumably many of us new seminarians thought of ourselves as called to something we weren't ready for, something for which we felt ill-equipped.

Of course there is another piece to Jeremiah. There is a lot of doom and gloom from this prophet. At one point Jeremiah is actually arrested as a traitor for telling the folks in Jerusalem to accept their defeat at the hands of Babylon as punishment from God. I don't know how much identification with this facet of Jeremiah was present in that seminary ice-breaker, but a lot of us had some sense that the church did need some reforming, rejuvenating, and rediscovering of its call. Few, if any of us, saw the situation in the dire terms of Jeremiah, but a lot of us probably felt a little kinship with the change agent part of a prophet's call.

Today's reading in Jeremiah is a curious mix of oracles of judgement along with anguish over what will happen. At one moment the anguish seems to be that of the prophet, but then God seems to feel the anguish as well. And there is only a hint of hope. "Yet I will not make a full end."

I think that many who love God and love the Church struggle with how to call the church to turn toward greater faithfulness without falling into the anguish found in Jeremiah. How does one call the Church away from its idolatry to consumerism, its captivity to giving its members what they want regardless of whether it is what God wants, without becoming Jeremiah? Or are there times when pastors are called to be Jeremiah?

I once had a wrestling coach who yelled a lot. He could be quite intimidating, but he would regularly remind us not to despair when he yelled at us. We should despair if he didn't yell at us because that meant he had given up.  Yelling meant he saw hope that we could become something better.

Now I'm not sure this translates very well beyond athletic endeavors, and even there my old coach belongs largely to a different time. But still there is this quandary of how to call people and religious institutions to repentance. (I use the word "repentance" here in its biblical sense of changing direction, of turning toward the direction of God's call.) And when it came to repentance and religious institutions, even Jesus had a hard time staying positive.

I think I struggle most in my ministry with how to balance God's love that in Jesus dies for us, with God's call to repent and follow Jesus, to learn a new way of living from him. Many years ago, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote about this in terms of "cheap grace," which he defined in part as "the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance."

Socrates had his own take on this. "The unexamined life is not worth living for a human." But we often do not want to take the critical look at ourselves that might lead to change, to repentance. We often prefer cheap grace. So how do we call people to change, to lives reshaped by God's love and grace, while still holding tight to the love and grace part? I'd lile to know your answer.

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In Need of Healing

The line has long struck me. Jesus encounters an invalid who is lying by a pool purported to have healing powers when its waters are "disturbed" by an angel. Presumably the man is there because he seeks healing, yet Jesus asks him, “Do you want to be made well?” What an odd question. We are told that Jesus knew he had been there a long time, but if he knows that, surely he knows what the man tells him next, that with no friends to help him, others always beat him to the waters when they are "disturbed."

"Do you want to be made well?" Sometimes "made well" is a translation of the same word meaning "to save," but not here. Here Jesus literally says, "Do you want to become healthy?" Surely he does, so why does Jesus ask?

I'm not going to attempt to plumb the psychological state of this poor fellow. Perhaps Jesus' question is no more than a literary device. However, most all of us occasionally know what we need to do to get healthy, but for some reason do not take such steps. Sometimes what we need to do seems too difficult, and we don't have sufficient willpower to stick with the diet or exercise plan.

But other times willpower seems less the issue. At times we seem to be attracted to unhealthiness. Many of us complain about our over-scheduled, too-busy, over-stressed lives, yet we continue to add and schedule more for ourselves and our children. Here the cure would seem to be easy. We need only slow down, stop occasionally, and relax. No need to join a fitness center or Weight Watchers, but many of us find this impossible.

If Jesus found us, harried, stressed, about ready to scream and pull our hair out, might not he be justified in asking us, “Do you want to become healthy?”

Any doctor can tell you of patients who come to her seeking a cure, but who seem to do everything in their power to prevent a cure. With alcoholism and eating disorders, we recognize a sickness that drives people to do that which leads to unhealthiness and even death. People suffering from these may say they want to be made well, yet often they seem compelled to act otherwise.

"Do you want to become healthy?" There is a sense in which a genuine "Yes" requires the acknowledgment of our compulsion - large or small - toward unhealthiness. For those in 12 step programs, it is the acknowledgment of being an alcoholic or addict. For the wholeness and health Jesus offers, it is about acknowledging a problem we cannot fix on our own. Whether we label the problem sin, brokenness, distortion, or something else, we cannot cure ourselves. We need to be helped, to be saved, to be rescued.

But we struggle to admit this. Especially in America, with our worship of individualism, we are loathe to admit we cannot do it on our own.

"Do you want to become healthy?" The invalid at the pool doesn't really answer Jesus, instead giving Jesus reasons he has not been able to get into the pool on his own. Fortunately for him, and us, Jesus offers help, healing, saving, even when our asking is half-hearted. “Stand up, take your mat and walk.”

Thanks be to God!

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Give Me a Sign

"Now this was the second sign that Jesus did after coming from Judea to Galilee." So ends today's gospel reading.  This sign was the healing of a boy near death. The first sign was the turning of water into wine at a wedding in Cana. A sign of prodigious abundance followed by a sign of healing. Signs play a curious role in John's gospel with a complicated relationship to believing. But regardless of the complex nature of signs in John, I am struck by their concrete substance - abundance and healing.

Such signs surely reveal a God concerned with human life; not merely with some life to come, but with the lives we are living now. Jesus is in some way is about God's concern and care for us, God's desire that we live life in the fullness that God intends for us.

By nature I am a somewhat restless and impatient person, sometimes unhelpful traits for a pastor. I desperately want the church to live into the fullness shown to us and offered to us in Jesus. And I can too easily grow frustrated at the ways church sometimes prefers to be a conventional, religious institution rather than experience the new life Jesus offers. In that frustration, I can become shrill and harsh, focused mostly on our failings, with little sense of a hope or promise for something new and better, without any invitation to healing and abundance.

Sometimes I suspect that it becomes difficult for me to see signs of God's healing and abundance breaking into my life and the church's life because I am looking too much at myself and too little at Jesus. When my frustration is at its highest, it is usually related to worries that I do not have what it takes, that I do not have the requisite abilities or gifts to renew and transform those things in the church that need renewal and transformation. But of course I have no real ability to grant true healing and abundance. Such things come from God in Jesus. They come in the work of the Spirit.

Those pastors like myself, who can get frustrated with the stodginess of a Mainline Church that seems trapped in its past, sometimes betray a remarkable lack of faith in one of our own core beliefs of resurrection. We can speak of decline as inevitable and hopeless, a hurtling unto death that not even God cannot undo.

I do not suggest that God must resuscitate the Oldline/Mainline Church. But neither is it for me to declare dead what God would give life. And so perhaps the task for me, and for others who love the Church, is to look for signs. Perhaps more than needing to improve our skills or develop our leadership abilities, we need to look for what Jesus is doing, to acknowledge that that the Church does not ultimately rise of fall on our efforts, but on the life giving presence of the one who comes with signs of abundance and healing.

What signs do you see? Lord, show us clear signs that you are at work in us.

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Astonished by Jesus

In today's gospel, we hear the tail end of the story of Jesus' encounter with a Samaritan woman at a well. We enter the story as the disciples return to Jesus and see him speaking with this woman just prior to her leaving. "They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman," not to mention that she was Samaritan.

They were astonished. Clearly this was not behavior they expected from Jesus. Now if this were the only time the disciples were surprised by Jesus' behavior, we might not be able to make much of it. But Jesus regularly surprises and confounds his followers. The very people who knew him best and who spent more time with him than anyone were often taken aback by the things he did, the people he hung out with, the things he insisted his followers must do.

How often does Jesus astound you? Perhaps that seems an odd question given that Jesus makes fewer personal appearances these days. But over the years I have occasionally been struck by the ways I have domesticated Jesus, fitting him in to very conventional slots that he rarely challenges, mostly because I never give him the chance.

It is amazing how, once we settle on an image of Jesus that works for us, we can keep Jesus shoe-horned into that image. I mentioned yesterday how we in the church have sometimes reduced following Jesus to faithfully attending worship. The discontinuity between the ways we live and act and what Jesus calls his followers to do can be quite striking, yet we often seem immune to being astonished by such discontinuity.

I suppose that those first disciples would have done the same thing if they had been able, but Jesus was too present to them and too new to them for such easy domestication. Perhaps that means it is more incumbent on us to seek out those moments where Jesus astonishes us, although we do not seem much inclined to do this.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the typical church-goer's lack of serious engagement with the Bible. Nothing is quite so challenging to the notions of Jesus and God that we construct for ourselves as the witness of Scripture. To hear Jesus or God speaking directly against notions that are dear to us can be a profoundly challenging experience.

Church doctrine can also be helpful here. Admittedly, Church doctrine can sometimes become nothing more than certain things you have to believe in order to be sufficiently "orthodox,"but it can also remind us of how our images of Jesus and church have strayed from any solid, biblically-based standard. I think of my own Reformed tradition's statement recommending "A faithful stewardship that shuns ostentation and seeks proper use of the gifts of God's creation." (See the Presbyterian Book of Order, F-2.05) This call to live simply for the sake of others is a faithful attempt to to do what Jesus asks of us, although looking at many church buildings I suspect the members would be a bit "astounded" to hear Jesus say anything of the sort.

So where has Jesus astounded you? How often does it happen at your congregation if you are part of one? I take it to be a given that if we are not astounded, surprised, and redirected by Jesus from time to time, the Jesus we are following is one of our own creating.

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Preaching Thoughts on a Non-Preaching Sunday

It's a line filled with angst. "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" Jesus speaks of a maternal longing for the children of Jerusalem, a longing for those who push away from his loving embrace.

I wonder if we should count ourselves among the children of Jerusalem. Those of us who claim to be Christians are surely her descendants in some way. The Church has often spoken of being heirs of God's promises to Israel. That seems to me a claim to be children of Jerusalem.

We certainly seem to have the "were not willing" part down pat.

I've been thinking a lot lately (and writing some as well) about how we in church congregations fail to incarnate Jesus and his ministry to the world. If someone unfamiliar with Christianity were to read the biblical gospels and write down a synopsis of what Jesus calls his followers to do, he would surly struggle to connect that with the primary activity of many congregations. 

Not that we never help the needy, the oppressed, the broken, or the poor. But often you have to look hard to find those things. The more obvious things we do are build buildings and hold worship services. Indeed many long time church folks speak of their church activity as "going to church," a phrase that accurately describes the primary primary focus of many church folk. Perhaps it is here, as much as anywhere, that we live out our heritage as children of Jerusalem.

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" Presumably, Jesus' angst filled longing extends to us as well. He longs to gather us in and show us the true way. Here his longing for us seems much like that of the father in the parable of the prodigal. Our failures do not turn Jesus against us. They simply pain him and cause his heart to ache with longing.

That, of course, means that reconciliation and joy are never more than a turn away. The moment we move toward Jesus and his priorities, he reaches out to embrace us in the heartfelt passion of lovers reunited.

So why do we keep insisting on our way rather than his?

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