This is Us--A Sermon on Inclusion--Everybody!

photo by Dawn (Willis) Manser / flickr

Sitting in my den, half-watching TV a commercial came on from the YMCA. A voice simply asked: “How do we get back to us?”  Good question

And it’s an old question. How do we get back to us? When Paul wrote the letter we now called Ephesians he didn’t write just to one church but to all those little tiny house churches scattered all over that part of the world. Paul had spent three years in Ephesus as their Pastor. And he moved on and when we come to this letter, Ephesians some scholars think he wrote it from his prison cell in Rome. We are not sure. We do know that there, toward the end of his ministry after he had criss-crossed the country preaching and listening and dealing with all sorts of problems—much like ours--he saw a very troubled world. It was just a mess. 

And I think he wrote to help bring some order in a very troubled world.  He tells us in the tenth verse of his first chapter. Listen” “With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will…as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in Him, things in heaven and things on earth.” To bring together all the fractured, divided parts. That’s was God’s dream for us all. 

Paul looked out on a world much like our own. There were not many us-ses. Church even then was divided. Converted Jews that followed all the rules—and these Gentiles that some were inviting into the church. Some even said they could join. There were the cursed Samaritans that nobody liked—and into the church the lines were clearly drawn:  the Jews that felt every Christian had to be circumcised and the Liberals who felt like, well—you do not have to be circumcised if you were a Gentile. So into the church poured all these divisions: worship problems…moral problems…who was the best preacher they had ever had and why couldn’t they get somebody like that again. Outside their doors there was cursed Rome that it's their thumb on anything Christians tried to do. If they found out you would not say Caesar is Lord—why you could not only lose your job but your very life. Us—where was the us? The us seemed to have fallen through the cracks. 

And Paul sitting in that jail cell far away in Rome had a lot of time to think about the mess his world was in. And so he sat down and began to write to all those little fragile churches. “Remember…”he began. “that at one time you Gentiles  by birth, called the uncircumcision—remember at that time you were without Christ. Aliens…Strangers…outsiders—having no hope and without God in the world.”

Their Temple was a symbol of their divisions. There was the Outer Court where anybody could wander in and out. Even Gentiles. There was another wall erected and only Jewish women and men could come in. Though no man in his right mind would be caught dead in the women’s section. And closer in was the Men’s section. Reserved of course for only Jews. And if that was not enough—there was another wall where only the Priests could go. It was the Holy of Holies. Nobody, but nobody could enter except a priest. And if you tried to enter you would be killed. 

photo by numb3r / flickr

There were a lot of them’s. And that was the problem. Nobody, but nobody wanted to be a them. An outsider. And alien. A stranger. Ever felt that way? We all have. Growing up in that little cotton mill village when we got to High School somebody would say: “Don’t you live in a mill village?” Or “What does your Daddy do?”  Or “How does it feel not to have a car and have to ride the bus everywhere?” And you would mutter something. But you would feel like an outsider. And if you happened to be black or not too pretty or have some kind of physical defect—well, that settled it. Maybe you couldn’t play football. Maybe you got passed over for Cheerleader. You felt like a loser. A term we’ve heard lots these last few years. 

We’ve got a whole lot of people that feel left out today. Liberals…and Conservatives…and women hit on…and men who feel they don’t have a chance…and Democrats and Republicans…and Foreigners…Immigrants…gays…folks on food stamps…not to speak of those who went to college and those who had to go to work after High School. We’re pretty good at making a list of who’s in and who’s out. And nobody but nobody wants to be left out. 

You take every one of those who took a gun and wounded and killed so many. The list seems to go on and on. Pittsburg…California…Parkland…Orlando. Charleston. They were all loners and they just exploded. Maya Angelou expressed it this way:

“Lying, thinking

Last night

How to find my soul a home

Where water is not thirsty

And bread loaf is not stone

I came up with one thing

And I don’t believe I’m wrong

That nobody

But nobody 

Can make it out there alone.”

And so many of us feel that way. James McBride once took our pulse and wrote: “I can’t remember a time where people are afraid to speak how they feel. I cannot remember a time,  “ he said, “when people were actually afraid to ask someone what party they belonged to or who they voted for.”

I heard Andrew Young tell this story in Birmingham He said that there was an old farmer who had two roosters that he wanted to fight in the cock fight down the road. So he trained them and one morning he put both of them in a cage and shoved them into the back of his truck and headed for the cock fight. He said when he got there he pulled the pen out of the back and he couldn’t believe it., Both roosters were dead. He said, “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. The only thing in this cage are blood and feathers. They killed each other off. They didn’t know they were both on the same side.”

This is what Paul was trying to say to his world. All of us really are on the same side. 

“When are we going to get back to us?” Good question. 

Read Paul’s letter. He didn’t stop with Aliens and strangers and those who had no hope. No. This was the vision he threw out to all of them. And nobody was left out. “So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.”

Folks, this is the good, good news. He took the circle which for all of us is too little and tiny and small-minded. And God stretched it and stretched it and stretched it until everybody was included and nobody was left out. Reckon God got a little carried away?

God knows we have all felt at some time or other like strangers and aliens. Outsiders looking through plate-glass window on what is going on the inside. Terrible feeling. 

Not having enough money. Getting a divorce. Having a child that broke your heart. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Hoping you don’t see anybody at the grocery store. Being sick with something that might not have a cure. All your hair gone. Wearing a wig. Being old and looking at those 24 year old Doctors and Policeman. Some of you know how it makes you feel. And Paul had a word for all of us that feel this way. And that word, believe it or not was us. Yes—us. Us.

Listen: you are no longer stranger and aliens and outsiders but members of the household of God. I love the way I Peter 2.10 puts it: “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were no people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.”

That’s a tall order folks. To transcend barriers in this world. Seems well-nigh impossible, Did you know that we are up 17% in hate crimes in 2017? Paul. I just don’t know. You see I want everybody to be like me. Or at least vote like me. I’d like everybody to pull for Clemson. I keep asking: What in the world is wrong with these people?

But the old question lingers: When are we going to get back to us?

It’s our job. Yours and mine. This little light of mine…I’m going to have let it shine…have to let it shine…have to let it shine. Even on all those that I am not all that sure of. God promised peace to those far off and those near. And I don’t care how you feel today or what you brought in here with you—the good, good news is that He promises peace. Not answering all our prayers. Not working it out the way we want. But despite it all—when we lay down at night—Paul said he wants us all to know peace. A  peace that passes all understanding. Settling down on you and me like a down comforter.

photo by Richard Feliciano / flickr
Pee Wee Reese and Jackie Robinson

Let me tell you of a victory that many people never heard. It took place in Cincinnati in 1947. Jackie Robinson had been hired as the first black player to play for the Brooklyn Dodgers. And you can imagine the reaction in 1947 of people in this country. Whew! And many in the country were furious. Furious. Civil rights was a cuss word for so many people. 

Robinson had to suffer many death threats. And when the team stopped at mainline hotels to spend the night Jackie had to find another place. And when he came up to bat day after day fans yelled terrible things at him. And some spit and some even threw bottles. He was scared for his life. But he stood there alone. Saying not a word.

One Southern-born Dodger named Dixie Walker hated Robinson and turned his back every time Robinson came out on the field. Many of the players felt the same way and weren’t quiet about it. But there was another player the Team Captain—Kentucky-born Pee Wee Rees—would not turn his back on Robinson. So one night in Cincinnati

photo by Rogelio A. Galaviz / flickr

many in the crowds were yelling at Jackie and calling him everything. As he fielded grounders Pee Wee Reese strolled out across the infield. He started whispering to Jackie for a few minutes. The crowd grew quiet. The players just looked. And then the strangest thing happened: Pee Wee put his arm around Jackie’s shoulder quietly sending a message to fans and players and sportswriters. Jackie Robinson went on to become one of the great baseball players of all time. Reckon the Clemson football team could have won the National Championship without heroes like Jackie Robinson?

I don’t know who it is you need to put your arm or shoulder around. In this church or in the world. And keep faith with what Paul said. But that’s our job. And if we will all do that it would change the picture of this country and I think, in time, the world. 

And this is how we get back to us.

photo by Ted Eytan / flickr

(This sermon was preached at the First Baptist Pendleton, SC November 25, 2018)

It's Thanksgiving--and the Room is Filled with Faces

On this Thanksgiving Day

the room is filled with faces.

Much like that scene in the book where

   there are just too many to number.

And yet I remember. Some at least.

Most have slipped away somewhere—

 But the delight they brought—those unremembered 

  and remembered ones—

  the doors they opened—the fun we had—

  all those shining times when the sun really did stand still.

These remain embedded deep in my heart.

That’s why I need a Thanksgiving.

To open the door and see here and there

   those that have cheered me on—and others too.

On this Thanksgiving Day

the room is filled with faces.

The old book says we are all surrounded by a sea of witnesses...

  and this is true.

The woman who birthed me and named me 

  and held me close to her breast her whole life long.

The church with its tall white columns and stained glass windows 

  

and its picture of Jesus—

But more—all those who made faith so possible that after 82 years

  I am amazed to discover that old ragged “I will be with you” is true after all.

The schools...the books...the fun...

But more: classmates and authors and teachers

   who did more than they could possibly know.

And all those friends who walked into my life 

  wherever I’ve gone.

They accepted, and affirmed and did not judge—

  they let me be--most days.

On this Thanksgiving Day

The room is filled with faces.

Dating her under a harvest moon...courtship...wedding day...

  seeing her walk down that aisle.
And children—my two red-heads

  and my two grand girls.

And so many more too.

The old book is right.

On this Thanksgiving Day 

The room is filled with faces.

(I wrote this blog piece a couple of years ago. It still expresses how I feel about so much and so many.                Thanks..Thanks. Thanks.)

--RogerLovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Gravy--A Thanksgiving Meditation for 2018

photo by su-liu / flickr

Gravy--"...the fat that drips from juices that drip from cooking meat, often made into a dressing for meat..."

Gravy boat--"Boat shaped vessel, or small tureen, in which gravy is served at table..."

Years ago one of my staff members brought in this manila file folder. She said: "Somebody told me to take a folder like this--write at the top, 'Gravy.' My friend told me to take some of the things that come into my life and put them in this folder." And then she added: "You might want to do this."

Well--it's been over twenty years since I got that suggestion. So, after my friend's encouragement I took the folder she gave me and scrawled: "Gravy" at the top. What a gift that was. So from time to time I would put all sorts of things in that folder. 

Gravy at a meal is not the main thing. Gravy is the extra, the succulent, the yum-yum that just makes the food. I insist on Red-eye gravy every Christmas breakfast. It goes on the biscuits and the grits. I love the gravy we make from the drippings from the turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Our dressing would not taste quite as good without the gravy on top. 

But I digress. I want to talk to you about some of things I discovered in my much-too-full gravy file from just a few years. Mostly the thank you notes and birthday cards and articles from the paper spilled out on to my desk. Yep, my cup runneth over. Understatement. Birthday cards from my 50th and 75th birthday. They made those scary times bearable. Sure, I wanted to be 35 again and the kids little and my wife teaching piano in the other room. But those tiny notes and cards made my long, winding trip a little easier.

I pulled out this yellowing newspaper article.What's this? It was the article about my high school burning down. Nothing left--someone wrote. Not so. I remembered riding the school bus about ten miles to that school. I remembered faces of people in  my classes.   That gorgeous girlfriend I never got. Buddies and football games and teachers that cracked the door to a world I did not know was there. Those were hard-good times. Like all growing up.

Somebody sent me an ancient church bulletin with some article I had written on the back. It was my first foray into published writing. I think they paid me two cents a word. But--that was the beginning of the articles and the books I wrote. And now this blog. 

There were thank-you notes and they sent me back, back through the years. Somebody family member sent me a wonderful picture of their Mama and Papa in their first-married years. They were members in the church I served and I loved them. They are gone but not forgotten. I kept that picture. 

I pulled out that tiny note that I found on the pulpit one Sunday morning in Clemson. It read: "Dear Daddy, tell everybody today that I love you." My son was consumed with the microphones on the pulpit. Whew. That tiny love letter still takes my breath away.   

I pulled out the last letter that my cousin Ray wrote before he took his life. It was the last letter that he wrote and he left it on his mantle. He thanked me for many things and wanted me to have his funeral--I  did. I remember that smile and that wonderful man that could never get it together. I can still see his face and despite the pain I smile even today at some of the memories. He left us much too soon. 

I have a couple of love letters that my wife wrote me before we were married. Over 57 years ago and she still puts up with me. No man could be more fortunate. 

There is a photograph of my little red-headed daughter sitting on the steps of our Virginia house years ago. She has on all those fancy mis-matched clothes and her favorite shoes and her special dog-eared stuffed animal slung under her arm. 

My cup really does run over. And when days I get grouchy and my feet hurt I need to pull out this file. Pictures of the dogs we loved and a snapshot of Princeton where' I spent many summers studying. Memories and momentous of Oxford and Italy and Amsterdam and on and on I could go. 

Maybe if we all take out our gravy file--folders or scrapbook or just memories--and begin to stop and look and ponder. Of course politics is running many of us crazy. But that neighbor with cancer and those in my grief group struggling get by and my buddy slowly drifting away with Alzheimers--The lens on why camera slowly zeros in on the things that matter.

The last sermon I preached the day I retired was entitled, "Gravy." Despite the craziness of church and the mean-spirited ones--and there were not many--I told them that morning about Gravy--my gravy. I looked out that day on people who came from everywhere maybe to see if the old man could still do it. Who knows? I told them that Sunday morning that service was the best funeral I have ever been to.

Yep--the gravy I have tasted again and again may not be the largest thing on the table--
but without it the meals of my life would not be completed. This Thanksgiving ought to be remembering time for us all. Scatter your memories out on your desk--maybe make a list of what kept you going and still does. I guarantee if you think long enough you will be glad. And unless I miss my guess, there will probably be a lump in your throat as big as your fist.

photo by schlymay / flickr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Vote for Jesus-Really

I took this picture some election time ago on the back road from Clemson (SC) to Pendleton.

 To listen to some folk you would think we really are voting for Jesus. Not.

If we were voting for Jesus we would not be voting Democrat or Republican or staying at home. Jesus is for everyone.

If we were voting for Jesus we would vote for all those people fleeing hunger and poverty and fear remembering he said: "I was a stranger and you took me in."

If we were voting for Jesus we would remember when they tried to push the children away he shook his head and took them in his arms and told them this was the essence of his kingdom.

If we were voting for Jesus we would be voting for the one who called out a woman at the well and sent her away with dignity and purpose.

If we were voting for Jesus we would remember he stretched out his arms for everybody--every-body.

If we were voting for Jesus we would we would remember that "in Christ there is no south or north in him no east and west but one great fellowship of love throughout there whole, wide world."

If we were voting for Jesus we would make sure that every sick person would find care and love and hope in some doctor's office.

If we were voting for Jesus we would remember him saying: "Inasmuch as you do it to the stranger or the sick or the suffering"--we see his face.

If we were voting for Jesus we would know that John said that he loved the world--the world--so much that he sent his only son to all.

If we were voting for Jesus this country would not be divided by labels which create enemies and hatred of the other. We would reach out to everyone and nobody would be left out.

If we were voting for Jesus we would know that gays and transgenders and prisoners and the poor and the mentally ill and those suffering from drug addiction or any other addiction were important to him.

If we were voting for Jesus we would know he would never raise an American flag over his churches and never act as if voting for anyone is the will of God.

If we were voting for Jesus we would make sure that we, his people: "...would beat our swords into plowshares, and our spears into pruning hooks; and make sure nations would not lift up swords against nations, and we would learn war no more; but we would make sure that all would sit under their own vines, and under their own fig trees and no one --not a single one--would be afraid."

(Central window in the 16th Street Church, Birmingham, Al given by the people of Wales after the church bombing.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

All Saints Day--A Time to Remember

"Don't Tell the Lazarus Story this Morning"

"It would not help the boy
who, listing wishes with a red
  crayon,
has only one, and writes,
'I wish she could come back to
  life.'"

  --Mary Kratt in The Christian Century


All Saints Day yesterday at the church. There came a time in the service where we called out the names of those in our community of faith that had died during the year. As the name was called, someone lit a solitary candle and a somber bell rang.The names were listed in the Bulletin. A long list of grief and loss. . .

Someone who died so quickly after the cursed cancer was found.

Someone in their forties--who left us much too soon.

Someone, I think who died of sadness.

Those infected with the dreaded Alzheimer's. Now at peace thank God

Someone who had been bed fast for years and years.

And after these candles had been lighted--people in the congregation were asked if they wanted to come forward and add another name to that list. Those who came to the microphone called out their loved ones names and then they lit a candle. Some known. Some unknown.

 A Tiny baby.
 A brilliant teacher who bravely fought cancer for years.
A mother.
A grandfather.
 A brother.
A sister.
A best friend.
A friend's wife.

The rest of us sat there looking at the flickering candles. Thinking of a  name, a face, a funny story. How they laughed or sang or painted or cooked. We remembered , despite our sadness, and we were glad.

(I first wrote this in November, 2013 for this special day. I thought if some of you missed it you might want to read it. All Saints Day...a time to remember. --RL)

                         --rogerlovette/ rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Hatred Will Not Replace Us

photo by Jukie Bot / flickr

Last year watching the Charlottesville debacle--the scariest part of that evening was that crowd carrying torches. They chanted: "Jews will not place us" again and again. This is America?  Sure we've had our kooks and racists through the years--but I never thought I would see this ugliness in a college town in our country in 2018.  Is this us?

Bigotry and hatred are contagious. And it's in Pittsburg and in Orlando and in those post offices that contained bombs from some of the most prominent public figures. Muslims and immigrants have felt its sting again and again. Those Mexican workmen across the street must feel scared every day they drive to work. Many of their children worry about leaving home and going to school--will their parents be at home when they get off the school bus? And those 500 children still missing their parents--wondering if they will ever get home--wherever home is. 

I love this country. I would not want to live elsewhere. But lately I think we have tried to make America great again by turning the clock back to the 1950's. Women stayed home and ironed and cooked and waited for Daddy. Gays were way deep in some closet. Blacks--well, you know that story.  Joseph McCarthy was calling everybody a communist. Voter suppression--have we really come very far? Our list today is seemingly endless. Would turning back the clock make us really great?

Remember what Martin Niemoller, the German pastor wrote in the Nazi heyday:

 "First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I was not as communist. 

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't as trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jews. 

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak out for me."

I still have hope. This is not us. And this is why I still read the supposedly "fake news." Those who spout those words have no idea what truth really is. Nicholas Kristof has this great article about our condition today. He began with that terrible shooting that took 11 Jewish people's lives in  their Synagogue. Read his words. If they are fake, folks--I do believe in fake. What about you?

photo courtesy of complative imaging / flickr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com