Jacob's Ladder--A Sermon

photo by Jay Gavin / flickr

Have you ever wondered how God works in our world? Doe he get up on Monday morning and put on a suit and kiss his wife goodbye, drink one last sip of coffee and get in his car, turn on the radio and go to work? Or maybe she sits there in a long, flowing robe pushing buttons marked “rain,” “sunshine,” cloudy,” “tornado,” “summer,” “winter,” “spring.” Or maybe God just sort of works the buttons like a video game and plays the combinations and sees what happens. Hmmm?  But somebody here is ready to say, “No! That’s not the way it happens. God started the thing and has let it go and is off somewhere hibernating while the world runs it's merry course.” But if none of these theories are true--how does God work in the world? That’s our question for today.

In 1985 our family spent a summer in England seeing many things. Toward the end of that trip one of the members of the church where I was working volunteered to take us by car up to Bath. It was a wonderful city. And the centerpiece of the city was the Abbey Church—which somebody has called the finest example of English cathedral architecture that there is. But as we started to leave, standing outside the church, somebody said, “Did you see them? Did you notice the ladders?” “Where?” I said. And pointing up somebody said, “Outside the entrance of the church on both sides. And looking up on both sides of the entrance to the church were these magnificent stone ladders. They were called Jacob’s Ladders. On one side the angels were climbing the ladder upward. On the other side the angels were slowly making their way down the ladder. Some of them were hanging on for dear life and some were gently coming down. Walter Scott said that when he was five years old one of his earliest memories was seeing those angels outside the church and when he looked up they scared him almost to death.

And so our sermon today is about ladders and angels. Angels ascending and descending because, you see, they tell us a great deal about how God works in our world today.

In our Genesis scripture Jacob was in a terrible state. He had made life miserable for his brother Esau. They were as different as two brothers could be. Jacob had lied and cheated and stolen the blessing that was rightfully his brother’s. And when his brother—naive, trusting man, loving his little brother—when he discovered the trickery of Jacob he couldn’t believe it. He kept saying, “Jacob wouldn’t do that.” And when it finally sank in what his brother had done—stolen his birthright which was a big deal—Esau's anger knew no bounds. “I guess I’m just going to have kill him. I don’t know what else to do. I’m going to kill him if it is the last thing I do!”” Trust betrayed is a terrible thing. And when Jacob heard how Esau felt he got scared and ran away. He ran and ran and did not look back.

And so this is background for the scene we find in Genesis 28. Here was a man on the run. It’s an all-too-human-story. It’s a story of how God works in a world filled with sin and failure and sometimes deceit and treachery. 

What do we learn here? Well, we first learn that God comes to Jacob in an unlikely place. The place really had no name. Some though called it Luz. Isn’t that a wonderful name? Luz. How would you like to have come from Luz? It was a no-name kind of a place. The kind of a place that has an ugly sound one that we don’t talk about very often. We know about those kinds of places, don’t we? Sometimes we call it loneliness. Sometimes we call it fear or anxiety. Sometimes we call it numbness and other times we call it sickness. This place could be called cancer or heart attack or doubt or anger or even the death of someone we love. Where Jacob found himself was an awful place.

flickr

All the landmarks were gone. Nothing was familiar. Genesis says it was night. And he was afraid--it should be translated scared out of his wits--because he was. The interesting thing about this story is that it says that God came to this unlikely place.

Don’t you sometimes feel a little bit like Jacob? Life may not have turned out as you wished. There may be some things in your life that you just can’t fix—and you hate it. Maybe it’s the middle years of marriage and there’s more blah than anything else. Maybe you have lost somebody that mattered. And you sit here this morning hanging on but the landmarks are mostly gone. And some nights you wake up afraid. And I would say remember Jacob’s Ladder. Out there in the darkness where the wind blew and sand was in his mouth and it was cold and the animals howled just over the hill. And this story says that God came to this unlikely place.

What happened? The Scriptures say that God spoke to Jacob in a dream there in the darkness. Later Jacob would tell others: “There was this ladder and these angels ascending and descending”. His friends would listen and you could see them holding their lips together so they wouldn’t laugh. A ladder? Angels? Up and down from heaven to earth? This poor man must have lost his mind!

What does it mean? You always have to ask what it means because unless you understand the meaning you don’t get the meaning of the text. What does it mean? What does God want us to hear in this passage. It means there is a connection between up there and down here—between heaven and earth. That’s what it means. Between the man who was afraid and who had cheated and lied and done terrible things to his brother. God come all the way down. Jacob was in a deep sleep and suddenly he realized he was not alone. He was not left to his own pitiful resources. Heaven touched earth. His earth. And he was not cut off, even after all he had done. Paul  Scherer one of my favorite preachers used to say, ”On that night of nights (Christmas) God came down the stairs of heaven with a child in his arms.” 

flickr

But that’s New Testament. But in Genesis we also find a connection. In the very place where we are. And we have our messengers, too, don’t we? You know them. They came 150 miles to stand by that sad grave the day your Mother died. Somebody brought a casserole when you needed to know somebody cared. Maybe it was a note or a phone call. I had a friend going thorough a terrible time and it lasted for quite a spell. And two or three times a week I would send him those crazy off-the-wall Far Side cartoons. Several years later when I was going through my own difficult time there came a letter in the mail--and he had sent me back every Far Side cartoon I had given him. Angels come in all sorts of ways. No wonder the word angel means: messenger. And suddenly we realize that we are not cut off after all. But we are connected. That nothing really does separate us from the love of God. Not even our meanness and deceptions. For you see, there is this ladder. It comes all the way down to where we are, even in the place where you are today. So we are not left to our own resources, that God. God comes. And this is one of the ways God works in our world.

But there’s more. You see God spoke that night. Not in a booming voice of stereophonic sound accompanied by the Hallelujah Chorus. No. God speaks and he might sound like a young Billy Graham or old distinguished Walter Cronkite but I hope not like Rush Limbaugh or Howard Coselle or Donald you-know-who.  No. God spoke differently. He came in a dream. Jacob remembered most of what he had heard the next day. God said the strangest thing. “Lo, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised to you.”

Later Jacob would tell the story. And he would say, “You know, it was weird. God said I would not be abandoned. He said, ‘I will be there.’ He said he loved me and he cared for me. Me—the loser and the louse. He said, “You do not have to be afraid.”’ He said something I think I will always remember. He said, ‘I will keep you. Keep!’ “Stand by me’—that’s what the word keep means. “I will protect you like a shepherd protects his sheep. I will watch out after you.”

Out of the silence and the night or the loneliness or the fear or even the nightmares—we are to listen closely to what God has to say. Listen this morning to your life. Listen not to the outer sounds but to the inner sounds. For you see, God speaks to us just as surely as he spoke to Jacob. Underneath the confusion, there is that promise, “Behold, I will be with you. I will keep you. I will be in it All.”  Whether it’s a lousy job or a hospital room or a nursing home—“I will be with you. I will keep you.” Remember the ladder. And remember the words God speaks.

photo by Garrett Coakley / flickr

But there’s more. Remember what happened? Well, Jacob never did become an angel. There never was a halo around his head. But he made a response. Before the story ends he will make his way home. Twenty years had passed since he had fled from his brother. Twenty years since he had seen the face of the one he had betrayed—his brother, Esau. The meeting of those two is one of the most beautiful passages in the whole Bible. Jacob came over the hill. And there was Esau. “I saw his face and I saw the fullness of his face in his life.” He looked at what all the years had done to his brother, Esau. Some of his teeth had come out. His thinning hair was gray. The lines that he himself—Jacob—had helped create were written in the creases of his brother’s face. But Esau came with no weapons. He stood there with his arms wide open. And with a voice of many-colored emotion he say, “Jacob...oh Jacob...how much I have missed you!” And Jacob said, “To see your face is to see the face of God.” And this is as good a definition of reconciliation as I know.

photo by cheng / flickr

It never would have happened except for the ladder and angels and seeds planted deeply in Jacob’s heart. After that dream, Jacob was turned inside out. The scripture say hat he marked the spot that had no name. He called it, “Bethel.” Beth-El—which means “the house of God.” It means this is the place where God comes. Hebrew history says it became the second most important place of worship to the Hebrews next to Jerusalem. The place of no-name or a place some called Luz had become to place where God dwells.  If this is true then let me say to you that live on a street with potholes and disappointments—remember this story. He comes all the way down to where we are right now. The streets where we live. Remember the verse that says: “While we were yet sinners…God came to us…”

Jacob made a vow. He said, “I will love you. I will serve you. I will follow you all my days. I will even give you a tenth of all I have.” And isn’t this a proper response for us all? To make a vow. Or to renew some vow we made long ago. Our promise is as personal as the gospel is personal. It could be, like Jacob, to mend a broken relationship.  It could mean knowing that despite all the hardships of our lives God really is with us. It could mean that it is time for us to do something for someone else. 

I hope that you will remember that at the middle of it all there is this ladder—Jacob’s Ladder. It means that God really does come to unlikely places—as unlikely as where you might find yourself today. He comes all the way down. Just like the cross—it’s rooted in the earth. This time...this place.

And God speaks. What God says is that we don’t have to be afraid. Even after all the dumb and stupid things we have done. God has promised to be with us all the way. And let’s not forget that the ladder reminds us that we can be changed. Maybe we’ll never be an angel but we can be changed and made different. Not once, but again and again. And so, as hard as it is, let us remember there is this ladder. And it comes all the way down to where we are. And that, my friends is enough.

photo by Commander, U.S. 7th Fleet / flickr

(This sermon was preached at the First Baptist Church, Pendleton, SC, June 26, 2016)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Jesus and Donald Trump

"My Favorite Book" - Donald Trump
photo by Mike Licht/ flickr

Word comes from Dr. James Dobson, right-wing prophet---that he has heard, second-hand that Mr. Trump had recently accepted "Jesus Christ as his personal Savior." He isn't sure exactly when this happened or who was the lucky Pastor but it was around the recent time when Mr. Trump spoke to 800 Evangelical pastors in New York.

Some conservatives say that Trump is still slinging around the hell word everywhere he goes.  James Dobson, in his defense, says: "We have to cut him some slack since he is a baby Christian." I do hope that he is a baby Christian. But--I was also like to hear the new convert comment on that statement about not forgiving anyone ever. I would like to hear him speak to Jesus' words about: "I was a stranger and you took me in..." when it comes to millions of immigrants. I would like to hear his new comments about Muslims and terrorism. I would like to hear if he still believes that President Obama was somehow behind the Orlando shooting.  I would like him to address his followers who are selling T-Shirts at his rallies proclaiming: "Donald Trump is going to kick the s... out of ISIS." I would like to see Mr. Trump release his tax returns. Wonder how much he gave to the church and other philanthrophic causes. Oh, but maybe he would say that was before he "confessed Jesus as his personal Savior." I will be looking to see what changes Mr. Trump has made in light of his recent conversion.

This whole matter is not politics as much as it is about a religion that is so wed to right-wing values that it has little or nothing to say to this world or its hurting problems. Dietrich Bonhoeffer looking at his country and so many of his churches devoured by Hitlerism and nationalism that he began talking about "cheap grace." A grace that costs little or nothing. We cannot wrap Jesus around a United States flag--they are not one and the same. And we cannot wrap Mr. Trump around the Christian flag easily--if at all.

"Accepting Jesus as your personal Savior" is not a slogan. It is a powerful statement of a life that is changed inside and out. Granted it takes a lifetime to work this out...but we must see evidence of his recent conversion.

This reminds me of  the story of  a little boy asked his Sunday School teacher if Hitler was a Christian. She piously replied: "We hope he accepted the Lord Jesus as his personal Savior when he was a little boy." Tell that to six million murdered Jews not to speak of the havoc the Fuhrer caused everywhere.

Folks, we have to get beyond slogans. The proof will be in what we see in the days ahead. And if we are dumb enough to just take at face value what we read in the papers or on the internet--God help us and God help America. We will certainly need it.

photo by Patrick Feller / flickr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Mary Glazener - A Tribute

The email said:  Mary Glazener had died. Mary—dead? Grief mingled with memory swirled. I took down from my shelf the book she had written. What a woman and what a story. Mary was a member of my church in Clemson.  Her Sunday School class was studying a book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers From Prison. Something real took hold of Mary. She began to study Bonhoeffer’s life. He was a Lutheran Pastor. He wrote a score of books. He lived during those awful Hitler-days. As a Christian he could not keep quiet about what was happening to his country. He came to America as Hitler rose to power. He taught at a Seminary in New York and was deeply moved by the black churches he attended in New York. He wrote that out of their blackness and oppression they sang and were faithful. Word from home said Hitler was gaining more power and Jewish citizens were rounded up and sent somewhere far from home. So, at great risk, 
he left the safety of the United States and returned to his homeland. It was a dangerous move yet Bonhoeffer went home to be with his people. 

Because of his resistance to Hitler he was sent to Flossenburg Concentration Camp. As the war was being lost in Germany Adolf Hitler signed Bonhoeffer’s death sentence. On April 9, 1945 Bonhoeffer was put to death. This was eleven days before the U.S. soldiers liberated that concentration camp. 

Mary Glazener couldn't get the book that Bonhoeffer had written in prison, Letters and Papers From Prison off her mind. She especially was intrigued by Bonhoeffer’s resistance to Hitler and how he worked with others to stop this man who was destroying the lives of millions. 

So her own journey began to discover the secret of Bonhoeffer’s faith and courage. She read most of what he had written. She enrolled in a German class at Clemson. In the evenings she would read and listen to German conversational tapes. This 52 year old woman who had never written anything but some plays for her denomination, this secretary and mother of three set out to write a novel of the man who had inspired her faith.

Friends wondered about her task. With the support of her husband  she began her treck. She discovered that Bonhoeffer’s cousin and best friend, Eberhard Bethge and his wife were living in Boston. She called them up and they were so struck with her intensity that they invited her to visit. They told Mary of many experiences they had had with Dietrich. And they gave her a list of folk who could help her with her story. Bonhoeffer’s  fiancé was living in Boston. Mary left the Bethge’s home and visited Bonhoeffer’s fiance. She learned much from these encounters and was given more names of people that she might contact.

Mary had never been to Europe but armed with names and addresses in Germany she boarded her first international flight. She met Bonhoeffer’s sister, sisters-in-law and former students that knew Bonhoeffer. She was introduced to Fabian von Schlabrendorff, who was the Resistance member who placed a bomb on Hitler’s plane in 1943. Mary stayed in Germany five weeks. She came back home to write her own take on Bonhoeffer’s life. 

This task was not easy. This 52 year old woman who had written little. But she began. Through research and conversations and hard work she worked year after year. Some people wondered if her dream was realistic. How could a woman who had written so little in middle age write such a story? Seventeen years after she first read Bonhoeffer’s diary from prison her book was published. This week I held the book in my hand and read the title again: The Cup of Wrath—The story of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s resistance to Hitler.  It is 447 pages long. 

This is not the end of the Mary story. She was invited to give the Inaugural Lecture at the opening of the Chapel at Beeson Divinity School in Birmingham. She traveled far and wide to seminaries, colleges and churches telling the Bonhoeffer story and introducing people across the country to her book. She was invited to become a member of the distinguished International Bonhoeffer Society. Those making a film on Bonhoeffer’s life employed Mary as a consultant. She was interviewed many times on television and radio. 

I told Mary one day—your book tells a great story. But Mary, your story might be just as great. That should be your next book. What? she exclaimed. Mary—how this whole journey has changed your life. This woman, quiet and gentle, could not believe anyone would want to read her own odyssey of faith and miracle. That journey of more than 17 years changed her life forever. In middle-age, 52 years old Mary slowly discovered she was a great deal more than just a secretary, a housewife and mother of three. She did all of these tasks well—but even Mary, looking back, could not believe all the wonderful things that have happened to her.

And so as I heard about her death I remembered once again her own journey and Bonhoeffer’s story. Who knows, across the land and world how many 52 year old women have nestled inside of them much more than they ever thought? Mary blessed my life. Mary blessed her family which she loved fiercely. Mary’s incredible story reached out and blessed people everywhere.

I still say her journey to tell the Bonhoeffer story was great. But the greater story is that of this woman who was quiet and gentle and kind and did not like the spotlight—could in middle age spread her wings and fly and fly and fly. Mary may be gone but her book and her own story are with us still. 

(Funny story one Sunday Mary Glazener came by and whispered:"Eberhard is here today." I said: "Eberhard Bethge?" She nodded. "Mary I am preaching a Stewardship sermon today--and I'm sure he'll be bored and I'll be mortified." "No he won't," she said. I walked off saying: "Eberhard Bethge is here today? Lord!")

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Father's Day Nudges Us to Remember

I once stood before a glass display case in an Art Museum in Memphis. Some artist called her work: “Belongings.” And scattered behind the glass case were her father’s tiny mementoes. After his death this daughter opened his old leather billfold. She took all the items nestled in the pockets of that billfold. In this artistic rendering she had arranged all those bits and pieces he had left behind. Standing there I found myself strangely moved. There was a stub of a ticket from a baseball game. A dog-eared Social Security card. A yellowing sepia picture of a young woman probably his wife in the early days of their courtship. There was another picture of a little snaggled-tooth little girl smiling. Could this have been the artist? There was his driver’s license though the date had expired years before. She had spread out a few coins: two pennies, a nickel, a quarter and a two-dollar bill. There was a mill pass that unlocked the door to a job he must have had for years and years. One lone key was in that display—perhaps to his house. 

Why did this artist display her father’s last mementoes for all to see? I think maybe she was trying to discover something about the man she called Father or Papa or Daddy. Perhaps she wanted those who saw this display to remember that this man, her father had lived and worked and dreamed. Perhaps this was her way of paying tribute to her father and dealing with her loss.

So on this Father’s Day it isn’t really about cologne or shirts or golf balls. This day is not just a time for families to gather. This day is a rare moment of spreading out our good and bad memories of the man we called Father. Perhaps it is a day of touching an old grief—or letting go of something hard at the center of our hearts. Maybe it is a day for honoring the man, for better or worse, who gave us life.

At the ball games on TV nobody ever holds up a “Hi Dad” sign. Some fan always waves to the TV camera: “Hi Mom!” But scattered across our lives are tiny bits and pieces, dreams and memories of the man we call father. This is how day. Remember.

John Wesley Lovett

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Our Muslim Teacher--Muhammed Ali

(seen on an athlete's locker)
photo by Exile on Ontario Street / flickr

I was struck by many things during Muhammed Ali's funeral in Louisville this week. I had forgotten so much that he did for so many. I had forgotten the way the whole world felt like they had lost a friend. I had forgotten what a role model he was for his own people--especially the young. I had forgotten how hard it must have been back there when he changed his name,  became a Muslim and refused to serve against Viet Nam in the military service.

What I never knew was his generosity. I never knew his stubborn refusal to give in to Parkinson's--not an easy task for someone who loved his physicality. I never knew that one of his best friends was Billy Crystal--a Jew. I never knew of his inclusiveness until that parade of Buddists, Muslims, Christians and Jews that came together on that platform to honor one of their own. I never really knew he belonged to us all and that under one roof, at least for one day, we were all brothers and sisters and the walls and divisions just faded away--if only for a moment.

I do know the Church of Jesus Christ could learn something from Muhammed Ali. The Lord Jesus stretched out his arms to all--had no qualifications. In this divided time--Muhammed Ali could teach us all something basic and real and human and true. Even we Christians.

photo by Melissa McDermott / flickr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Want to Read a Good Book?

Being a hopelessly addictive reader as long as I can remember--it's hard to find good books to read these days. I go to my Library--which I love--and scour through the stacks. I used to pull the "New York Times Best Sellers" down and realized that means nothing. I guess when we have made the writer--not  author--of A Thousand Shades of Grey plus all her other very gray books--a very rich woman we are in very deep you-know-what. Looking at the Best Seller Lists often makes me know--deep in my heart--why Donald Trump is the "presumptive" Republican candidate for President. Bad, bad taste is in. I hear--but cannot testify to this fact--that whips and chains and dog collars and other assorted S&M items are flying off the counters. I guess if Donald Trump is elected we will all be cussing everybody out, punching people in the face people at church we don't like (including the preachers) --and telling women wearing the habib at the mall to go back to where they came from. 

But I digress. I'm supposed to talking about books that stir my heart and keep me going. So I recommend The Boys in the Boat. Many of you may have already read it--but I commend it to everyone. It is a big book. But don't let the scare you--it is worth plowing through. The  author--not the writer--is Daniel James Brown. And he is talented author unlike people who write about whips and chains and feathers. 

The book tells the wonderful story about the 1936 eight-member American rowing team that beat the tar out of everybody and went to the Olympics and spoiled Hitler's day or week maybe. Still in the Great Depression millions of Americans grabbed hold of this fine story. The sons of loggers, shipyard workers and poor farmers showed the world what beating the odds really means. This University of Washington eight-oar crew defeated elite rivals from California and Eastern schools and finally international teams that were supposed to win. The nation was riveted by their courage and guts and commitment to a larger cause than just self.  In the doing, it changed the lives of every boy that pulled those oars for their country. I was sorry when this big book came to an end. It lifted me up and carries me along still.

In this strange time of whips and cussin' and immigrant-bashing--I read this 1936 true story of what really does make America great. It ain't beating our chest and running over people and generally having a bad hair day--but it is the powerful truth that when we have the determination and the courage to join hands and hearts wonderful things happen to those involved. Read the book. Yogi Bear used to say "it ain't over 'till the fat lady sings"--which I would translate those words to: it ain't never over when the American people stand for something real and right and true. I closed the book and remember that terrible Depression that gripped us all. We made it though those troubled waters--and I do believe we will make it through these choppy days too.

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Some Deacons I've Known--A Sermon of Sorts

"I slept and dreamed that life was joy.

I awoke and saw that life was service.

I acted and behold, service was joy!"

     --Rabindranath Tagore

I want to talk to you today about some of the Deacons I have known. I thought about talking to you about some of the Deacons I wish I had not known. In every church I have ever had there has been someone who just made things difficult. I don’t know how many hours sleep I have lost just dealing with some of these difficult people. But, you know I have discovered something in looking back. I don’t remember much about those that gave me and the church difficulty. What I do remember are names and faces of those that carried the church along and made it work. 

There was Mr. John in my first church. Must have been in his mid-seventies. He had worked for REA all his life and helped bring electricity to Daviess County, Kentucky. He had been a member of our church for as long as anybody could remember. He had buried three wives with cancer and he had not lost his faith. He was going steady with Miss Pauline who taught the first grade and never been married. When people asked her when they were going to get married she said: “We’re not. I’m not going to be the fourth wife he buries.” I was young and green and needed a lot of help. I would sit on Mr. John’s front porch and pour out my heart as he smoked his little pencil thin cigars. He was a wise old man. And he helped me immensely. “Preacher, I’ve been around here a long time and seen all kinds of crazy stuff. It’s going to be all right. We’re going to work together.” And when he stood to talk in business meetings people listened. For years I kept a picture of Mr. John underneath the glass on my desk.

In my second church Charlie was just wonderful. I never knew a man who loved his church more. He sold insurance, or at least he went around to houses collecting the way they used to do. But he visited the hospitals more than me. He was always singing in the choir. He was always there and would sidle up to me and say, “Preacher, we’re praying for you.” When Charlie died it left a great big hole in that church.

In my third church Edwina had been ordained a deacon. It was 1969 and not many women were being ordained. But I remember her because of her deep spirituality. She kept reminding the Deacons and the church that this was a spiritual body. That we had to bathe everything we did in prayer. She would look out on Sunday from the choir and see what she called, “troubled faces” and pray for them. They never knew that. But she gave our church a richness without which we would have been poorer.

Ed was head of the local Nuclear Power Station. Had an important job with many demands. But he was always at the church and you could always count on him. When I had things I could not handle I would turn to Ed. He never broke a confidence. He was never one to love the spotlight. But his integrity just came through and everybody respected him. 

Spence was President of a large corporation. You would know the name of it if I told you. But he gave a lot of money to the church and never made a splash. He didn’t have to be in the spotlight. He just served. He built Habitat houses, he gave of himself and his means. And when I got into serious trouble, he stood by me all the way. And when I retired, years later, he flew a whole plane load of my friends from that church I had once served. This Deacon helped save my life in a terribly difficult time. 

Bill owned a paint store. He was a charter member of our church. He and his wife opened their home to all those that moved in from somewhere else. Everybody loved him and his wife. He stuck with the church through some hard, hard days. He never gave up. When I knew him he was an old man but still there every Sunday. The day we dedicated our new sanctuary he came out the door and hugged me and said, “I never thought I would live to see this day—it is just beautiful.” And when he died, I talked about “Pillars.” Pillars that hold the church up.

I could name fifty others whose lives have made an indelible impression on me. But as I thought about today as ordaining these four here before us, I wondered back there what it was that those that I so fondly remembered had in common.

They all knew what the word deacon meant. Diakonia means to serve. It does not mean to be served. But Jesus did say when we give ourselves away—it comes back to us. Everyone of these people, in their own way served their Lord through the church. They rolled up their sleeves and were not afraid to work. They could all be counted on. 

They all loved their church. As I look back on these men and women every single one of them loved their church. You could count on them. There was no question about their loyalty. More than one would say, “Pastors come and Pastors go, but this is our church.” And they didn’t leave. They were all deeply committed to their local church. And what they taught me was that the more you invest yourself, the more you love something. I never heard one of them say: “If the church does not do so and so…I will leave.” They did not believe in divorce from the church. They never threatened or held their church hostage. They just kept coming and doing their part. And it always made those little all-too-human churches stronger.

They could all be trusted. Everybody in the church knew this. Even their enemies. For, you see, they lived lives of integrity. They didn’t whisper behind people’s backs. What you saw was what you got. Cecil Sherman was asked one time what was the most important quality a Search Committee should look for when they called a Pastor. He said, “Character.” And you know, I think he is right. For without that quality—which is always sterling silver—leadership in church goes sadly lacking. 

As I look back on the faces of the Deacons that I remember they had another thing in common: they all loved their Lord. I don’t mean they were pious. In fact some of them were downright impious sometimes. A few of them could not even pray in public. But nobody doubted their love for the Lord Jesus. Somebody has said that the definition of a saint is someone who lets the light shine through their lives. If you want to be a good Deacon I think you have to have a faith that runs deep. This is why Paul warned the church not to call immature people to serve. They needed to be seasoned.

Each one of these I remember supported their Pastor. Now these were strong people. You did not manipulate them. They could spot a phony a mile away. So none of them were yes people. They had their own minds. And when they would disagree with the Pastor, and most of them did from to time, they would come into my office or call me on the phone and we would talk behind closed doors. That’s the way it worked. Thinking back, I have never seen a church that did not stand by its Pastor that was strong. Can you think of a single one? Shoot the leader and what do you have? A leaderless church.

Reuel Howe, Pastoral counselor used to tell the story of a church that called a young man to be their Pastor. Early on they realized this was just not working. The natives were restless. People began to mutter and then complained out loud. So finally a little group of Deacons went to see him. And they told him of the complaints which he had not heard at all. He was absolutely devastated and offered to resign. But they shook their heads and said, “No. We will not accept your resignation. We want you to stay. We called you and it is our responsibility to make you the best Pastor you can be.” So they stood with him, held his hands up, prayed for him as he stumbled through some of his sermons. And Dr. Howe says looking back on that church’s history, the years that man served were the finest years in whole history of that congregation. Deacons support their Pastors. 

As I think of those Deacons I remember they were all different. They were as different as people could be. Some were introverts and some were extroverts. Some talked continually and some were very quiet. But I Corinthians says in chapter 12 that we all have different gifts. I don’t know how many people in the church don’t think they have anything to contribute. But God uses our differences for his kingdom’s work. Somebody said there were two kinds of people the alive and the afraid. Those people who say: “We can’t do that. We can’t do that. It will hurt the church. People will leave. (Or even worse) I will leave…”  But the others would say, “Pastor, let’s try it. We’ve never done it that way—but it may work. And if it doesn’t, so what. We will try something else.” They were all different but they were all alive. 

They all knew what to do with a towel. In the liturgical church the stole that goes around

photo by Fr Lawrence Lew, O.P. /
flickr

the neck of the minister was first placed on the arm as a symbol of the towel and service. But somewhere through the years the towel came to hang around the neck of the minister for decoration. These deacons I have mentioned all knew what you were to do with a towel. Sometimes they wiped away tears. Someone they cleaned up spills. Sometimes they helped keep things clean. Sometimes it was the church and sometimes it was to wipe the dirty smudges off people’s lives. As I think about all these, none of them were judgmental. They didn’t look down their nose—they just helped.

Another Deacon I remember was Louie. He must have been getting close to eighty when I first met him. He came into my office one day and said he had a problem. “They want me to serve as Deacon, and I don’t think I can do that.” “Why?” I asked. “Well, I have this habit. I know that Baptists don’t believe in dancing and Jewell and I go dancing every single week. How can I be a Deacon and still dance.” I asked him if he loved the Lord and his church. I asked him if this was the only reason he would serve and he nodded his head. I told him, “Louie, I think God is calling you to be a Deacon. If the only reason you don’t serve is because you dance I don’t think that excuse is good enough. I think this church needs some dancing Deacons.” The Sunday he was ordained I gave him a towel as a symbol of what it meant to serve. Several years I moved away and his wife called and told me Louie had cancer and was very sick. He wanted to talk to me. And she put him on the telephone and we talked. And I tried to encourage him. I asked him if he remembered his towel, he said he still had it—I look at it every day.” Not long after that Louie died and they asked me to come back and have part in the funeral. I asked Jewell if she could find his towel. And I held it up that morning and talked about Louie, the dancing deacon. A wonderful human being.

So friends, we come to set apart four folks who have never served as Deacons. I challenge them to remember that Jesus called us to serve. If you do that this will be a better church because of what you do. May God bless you in your work. And may God bless this congregation as they support what you do here. 

photo by peter skim / flickr

(This sermon was preached at the First Baptist Church, Pendleton, SC where I serve as Interim Minister.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Words Worth Reading--Wish I'd Said This...

Every once in a while I read something so good I want to share it with you. This is one of those days. My friend, Marion Aldridge has a blog called "Where the Pavement Ends." He writes about all kinds of healthy stuff. He is a Minister with a heart as big as the world--and insights that ain't bad either. 

In this crazy time when the temperature is heating up--and IO'm not talking about June-South-Carolina-heat--but the ugly vociferous ranting that we are hearing in many places. Writer Aldridge makes what he calls "A Modest Proposal" of what we could all do to turn down this temperature before it burns us all up.

Wise words. I recommend.

An Audacious Proposal by Marion D. Aldridge For a couple of thousand years, human beings have lived tribally: my clan against your clan, my nation against your nation, my religion against your religion. My proposal: for the next two thousand years, more or less, we live as if all humans were part of the same family, and that we act compassionately toward one another. I know nothing about statecraft, so I’ll leave that problem to people with different skills than mine. But I do know something about religion. For instance, I’m aware that the Bible is full, exasperatingly full, of warnings about hanging out with those who are different: “You shall be holy to me; for I the Lord am holy, and I have separated you from the other peoples to be mine.” Leviticus 20: 26 “Now make confession to the Lord the God of your ancestors, and do his will; separate yourselves from the peoples of the land and from the foreign wives.” Ezra 10: 11 Separate. Avoid. Shun. Sometimes, kill. I’m sure the Koran and other holy texts have similar passages that counsel, “We’re the best! We’re number one. Our way is the right way. Other beliefs are false and dangerous. Stay away from them. Destroy them.” Hindus and Buddhists have also victimized others because of religious intolerance. In the twenty-first century, the tribe that is threatened is humanity. Maybe it’s time to pay attention to some of the other texts in our holy books: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” I Corinthians 13: 4-5 “Jesus replied: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” Matthew 22: 37-40 “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” Matthew 5: 7-9  From the sacred texts of Islam: “There is no compulsion where the religion is concerned.” (Holy Quran: 2/ 256) “Show kindness to parents, and to kindred, and orphans, and the needy, and to the neighbor that is a kinsman and the neighbor that is a stranger, and the companion by your side, and the wayfarer, and those whom your right hands possess. (Al Quran 4:37) It’s time for two millennia of zealotry, persecution, argumentation, name-calling, and finger pointing to give way to something different. This doesn’t mean people of faith become less passionate about their beliefs—just less angry and arrogant. I can tell my story and I can listen to your story. Religious people are endlessly talking about repentance and transformation, but it’s funny how it’s always the other person who is expected to change. Here’s my audacious proposal: I ask my Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Pagan and Hindu friends to love, to be kind, to be patient, to be gentle, to be good, to be merciful, to be peacemakers, to be gracious. If we don’t, according to a Jewish rabbi quoted in the Christian scriptures,  “You may even be found fighting against God.” (Gamaliel, in Acts 5: 39) You can read more of his good stuff on: marionaldridge.wordpress.com --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com