July 8, 2007

TWO GUILTY TEENAGERS

In this church of many pregnancies and therefore many diaper-changing dads and nursing mothers, that Call to Worship today seemed aptly fitting for such as church as ours. Plus, we don't hear it often enough, such a delightful feminine, maternal picture of God, cuddling us close... and we nuzzle right into that embrace. "As a mother comforts her child," it says.

My granddaughter Abigail and her parents were at the parade here in town on Wednesday. She's almost three years old, and after an afternoon of sun, fire engine sirens, an overdose of sugar (which I had absolutely nothing to do with!), plus some kiddie rides at City Center Park, she finished the day with mac-and-cheese at Applebee's. There at the table after the meal, Abigail pulled over her mother's hand, rubbed her cheek on it, and then she laid her cheek down on Karla's hand and said, "I wanna go home now."

"So I will comfort you, says the Lord." That's THE image for today. Welcome home to you, right where you are!

A woman wrote to the president of the University of Minnesota when her son enrolled last year. She asked President Bruiniks himself to make sure her son got a good roommate - someone who would study hard, go to church each weekend, never drink or stay our late, and certainly not go out with loose women. A good roommate was important, Mom said, because this would be the first time that her son had been away from home... except for the three years he spent in the U.S. Navy! [1]

That's another side of mother-and-child, isn't it - when the kid (or when WE) are grown up and on our own... and living with the result of childhood parenting. It's not just that, though - not just how parents might control us or over-protect, and the unconscious messages we inherit from that. It's also how we ourselves make choices and how we're influenced by the messages and values surrounding us, how we deal with other people (especially those dearest to us), and how we live in... (here's the word) FAITH by the... (here's the other word) GRACE of God.

The worship folder notes tell you... or if you've been here in recent weeks, you may remember... or if you are a first-timer here by invitation at our 4th of July parade... (a sincere welcome, by the way!) ...whatever, here we are at the end of a loose series of sermons - but not to worry, because it's not a tightly-cohesive system, you're not behind and you're not too late. For a couple of weeks we've been unpacking the goodies wrapped in the letter called Galatians, the single most influential book of the New Testament - God's grace in Jesus Christ, our faith in that (that's the spiritual dimension of this critical theological insight), how grace changes "who's in and who's not in" (that's the social aspect) - and, today, as I said a few weeks ago I would, I'll say something about the personal and emotional results.

I smoked my first cigarette at the age of 13. Of course it was not only illegal but absolutely morally forbidden. OK; this was a few years ago. Times have changed. My best friend, Don Fahrenbrink, had somehow obtained a couple of cigarettes, one for him and one for me. To try them out the most private place we could think of at the time was the baseball dugout at the field in Concordia, Missouri - a good mile away from anyone we knew, with a wide-open view in case anyone did approach.

Now boys and girls, DON'T try this at home (or anywhere, for that matter)! With fingers shaking, we lit up. It wasn't very good, but we smoked those cigarettes right down to the nubbins. And then afterward, Oh no, how would we keep anyone from smelling that sin on our breath? So far we had been undetected. Well, Don had bubble gum and I had brought toothpaste for extra measure. Still, we could taste those cigarettes all day, and we were positive we'd be apprehended at any moment. We were SO guilty... but we got away!

Now, not only do I remember clearly the details of that Saturday in May but so does Don, just as vividly, without my reminding him. He and I re-connected by email a few years ago, and in his second note he wrote about that dugout and those cigarettes. I've told the story here at least once, perhaps even more, and twice on vacation I've driven past that ball field for just this memory.

Why? In the scheme of things, pretty insignificant, those cigarettes, but here we are, two still-guilty teenagers in our 60s, now, both still bearing certain burdens from our past. And if so with those two measly cigarettes, what about all the more important things?

Here's where you and I (and Don) need, first, before anything else - and at the end of the day when we fall asleep- need to hear that if anyone bears one another's burdens, it's the One who did indeed carry his own load first, that cross, in order to carry all our loads and make us renewed and whole in that Spirit of his own gentleness. Or, as I began today: "As a mother comforts her children (even when they have done something wrong) so I will comfort you, says the Lord."

The thing is, as you know, families are a lifetime experience for mothers and for children. It takes us a lifetime to grow into trusting God's unconditional affection. I began to understand the comforts of God's grace only in my 30s. I'd been a Lutheran all my life and therefore I knew grace/faith words as well as I know the pledge of allegiance, I'd gone to seminary, read the book of Galatians, studied Martin Luther's "all-time most influential commentary on the single most influential book" in the Bible... I was a pastor, I had a family, life and my marriage were good. But why weren't things working for me on the inside?

Why couldn't I be like the senior pastor of the church, Ed Blumenkamp, a skilled administrator who could shrug off unmet expectations? Why couldn't I line up with the majority of those church members who were theologically conservative? After my ordination, why hadn't I lived up to my seminary potential as an editor and student body president? How much time could I give my three-year-old son when I wanted time for myself? The things I told myself didn't seem to work. Still don't, for that matter, whenever I get hooked back into that cycle of defeat.

I met God's grace in a counselor and in this book of his. [2] He was a licensed therapist who also was a Lutheran pastor, and he (re-) introduced me to God's unrestricted welcome, acceptance, and forgiveness. He was a flawed man and a hurting soul himself, but if he couldn't live by grace he sure did offer it to me. He helped me understand, first, that all of us - he, you, me, anyone - we all live under a sense of judgment. But more powerfully, in Christ God has given us another life, another start, not just once but as often as we need it.

We are all born with a fundamental sense of demand on us. It's our nature to think of ourselves as tested and accused. We try to be... what we know we ought to be - and we can't do it. I should be... what I cannot become, and I ought not be... what I am and cannot change. You know what I'm talking about.

In at least five ways, this built-in natural law hurts us. Requiring us to obey the expectations of others. What a recipe for unhappiness; there's never going to be an end to what others want of us, and we can't please everyone. And change - changes threaten us because the rules that we have mastered, the ways we've figured out how to keep people (or ourselves) happy - the rules are different now, in other words. We get desperate; what are we supposed to do in order to be good?!? Third, how do we measure up? How do we KNOW we're good (or not)? Only by comparing ourselves to someone else - our looks, our income, skills, achievements, haircut, lifestyle, politics, you name it. Are we equal to? ...or better than? ...or worse? When we compare ourselves, we either feel judged (since we haven't measured up to what we ought to be), or we feel we have to change and can't, or we feel superior, arrogant, and judgmental. Here comes Number Four, if you're still counting: The harder we try, the worse it feels, right? And finally, pessimism, depression, despair, addiction, and terminal unhappiness.

Are you with me? Are we there yet? I won't insult you by minimizing your sense of failure or dismissing the sorrow and regret you live with. It's real, all too real. What you've heard in some churches, what you've probably heard from parents, what you know by experience, what you've been told, what you've told yourself is all true. You ARE a loser. It's true. You have failed. You've sinned and fallen short, repeatedly.

But I don't care! I don't care about your history because your history doesn't count before God and neither does my story of cigarettes and mother-issues. In Christ we are welcome as we are. Then he goes to work on us, but it's a lifetime job, as you know. God isn't finished with either you or me yet.

AND I don't care about your history because time and again you or someone else have fulfilled the law of Christ for me (as the Bible said today). You've borne my burdens and told me I'm forgiven so comprehensively that I return the favor and bear your burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ for you. The word for that is "grace," and to live with it is "faith." And we both know the origins of it: God's unqualified love in Jesus Christ, in cross and resurrection. When we learn and re-learn how to live with that love and trust it... well, let's just say, as Jesus did, "When you know the truth, the truth... shall set you free!" (John 8)

Once there was a girl who always started over when she made mistakes on her violin. When she was 30, she was famous. Many people came to hear her. One night she gave a concert, and everyone was there.

She made a mistake, and so she started over. Everyone got up when she was done, and they applauded for 10 minutes. She was glad she had learned how to start over. [3]

Nathan Castens
Family of Christ Lutheran Church
Chanhassen, Minnesota

[1] I tweaked and updated this story from Mark Trotter

[2] Ralph Underwager, I Hurt Inside, Augsburg 1973; I believe this book is out of print

[3] Also out of print, I Openers by Herb Brokering, Augsburg, 1970s ?