The Nativity In The Living Room

Do you have a crèche or nativity scene somewhere in your home this Advent? In the Newcomer house, we have manger scenes in several rooms to celebrate Jesus’ birth.

On Christmas Eve of 1984, my father preached a sermon at Paoli United Methodist Church that challenged the traditional picture of Christ’s lowly birth in a stable. It turns out that if you place a manger scene in your living room, you may be closer to the truth than you might think:

“The story of the first Christmas is fraught with so much tradition that sometimes it is difficult, if not impossible, to separate what we actually know from the Scriptures about the event, from what has been added over the years by the collective imagination of believers in order to fill in the missing pieces. Christmas pageants over the years have conditioned us to imagine Mary and Joseph arriving late in Bethlehem, perhaps her labor pains already beginning. We've seen countless pictures of Joseph knocking on the door of the crowded inn, and we've heard all kinds of condemnations heaped on the innkeeper for not finding them a room. But all of this is supposition; none of it is in the Scripture itself. The text from the Second Chapter of Luke actually reads this way: “And while they were there the days were accomplished when she was to be delivered.” It really sounds as though Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem days ahead of Jesus’ birth.

The tradition about Jesus being born in a stable also may not fit the facts. In Luke, we read these precious words: “Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” We have always supposed that a stable was his birthplace because they were turned away from the inn, and when he was born they laid him in a manger, a feeding trough for domestic animals. Where else would a manger be than in a stable?

Actually, there is another explanation. The Greek word kataluma – which is translated as “inn” – really means “guest room,” not “inn.” In the parable of the Good Samaritan, when the Samaritan takes the wounded traveler to an inn to recuperate, Luke uses an entirely different Greek word for inn. In Luke’s account of the preparations for the Last Supper, Jesus tells his disciples to find a “guest room” for the Passover meal. Here, the word is kataluma – the same word used in Luke 2’s story of Jesus’ birth. In short, a better translation of Luke’s account might go something like this: “She gave birth to her firstborn son and laid him in a manger because there was no place for them in the guest room.” Since Bethlehem was Joseph’s ancestral town, one might suppose that he had relatives there with whom they were supposed to stay, but by the time they arrived, the guest room was already full of kin-folk because of the census, so Mary and Joseph had to stay in the main part of the house – the living room, so to speak. But what about the manger? This doesn't explain the manger.

It is important to understand how a First Century Jewish house was arranged. It was usually one large room, and if the family could afford it, a kataluma, or guest room, was attached because of the Jewish emphasis on hospitality to strangers. The main room of the house was itself divided into two parts. The back part was a platform raised about one or two feet above ground level. Here, the family lived, cooked, ate and slept. The lower, front part of the main room was at ground level, and into this area the livestock was often brought to spend cold nights with the family. Naturally, a manger was there with fresh straw for the animals, and often it doubled as a cradle for the babies.

Is Luke telling us that when Mary and Joseph arrived at the house where they planned to stay, the guest room was already full, and so they had to stay in the main room of the house with all the family and the animals, and there the newborn child was laid in a manger?

Of course, there is much supposition in this theory, but if it is true it makes an important point. Luke seems to want us to know that Jesus – the Son of God – was born, not off in the guest room, but right in the midst of smelly hay, snorting animals, anxious onlookers, and the tenderness and love of the family circle. Jesus, our Savior, was born like all of the other children of that day. He was tenderly placed precisely where all other babies of that day were cradled.

If we experience the birth of Christ this Christmas, it will not be in the guest rooms of our lives – not off to the side in those special compartments of our lives that we've reserved for him – but right in the middle of it all, right in the middle of everyday living. … Jesus was born where we work and live and love and where we hurt. He is Emmanuel, God with us. … He goes to any lengths to meet us in the real stuff of life. … He is always where we are, concerned about what’s going on now in our lives. His salvation is not an other-worldly experience; it is for the here and now. God’s favorite place is the commonplace.”

Merry Christmas, my friends!

From: "The Nativity in the Living Room"

Scripture: Luke 2:1-7

Preached at Paoli UM Church

December 24, 1984

A Light In The Darkness

When I was in junior high school, our youth group at Calvary United Methodist Church in Easton, Pennsylvania went on a spelunking trip. Spelunking is better known as caving. We were told to wear old clothing that we were willing to throw away. The reason for this became clear when we eventually emerged from the cold, wet cave. We were covered from head to toe with mud, looking something like this guy:

A Spelunking Guy

For a seventh grade boy, this is high adventure, but I don't think my dad fully shared my enthusiasm for spelunking. He did, though, glean a sermon illustration from the ordeal. Here’s what he said the next Sunday:

“I’m not sure why our Junior High Youth Fellowship advisor, Chuck Fuller is so gung-ho over exploring caves, but a week ago as our group slowly threaded its way up from the depths of a cave toward the mouth, I thought perhaps it was meaningful for him, and could be for all of us, if we looked upon it as a parable for life. And the more I thought about it, the significance of this whole experience was even more heightened by the fact that we were groping our way out of this cave on a day in the middle of the Advent season.

As we left the inner reaches of the cave and began to climb out, it became apparent that the batteries in my flashlight were beginning to grow weak. Since we had to proceed in single file order, when the person in front of me would get pretty far ahead, or turn the corner and I no longer had the benefit of his light, it grew quite dark, as the beam of my own light was fading fast. Without the proper light, there were more bumps and scrapes on the jutting rocks of the cave’s walls; more caution was needed, more feeling ahead with my hands. But then, just as my flashlight was dimming to a mere glow, something happened. I felt it before I saw it. The cooler air of the outside world; we were coming near the entrance to the cave. And then finally confirming my speculation, the first beams of sunlight were visible. In no time at all we crawled out into the full light of day, squinting in the bright sunshine, for we had become accustomed to the darkness. It made me think again of that great verse from Isaiah 9: ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in the land of deep darkness, on them has light shined.’

This whole caving experience is our Advent parable. Apart from God, in our fallen humanity, as individuals and as nations, we are groping and fumbling our way through the darkness, falling, hurting ourselves, bumping into one another. Sometimes helping each other a little, but mostly pushing each other away and looking out for ourselves. Like my flashlight, what light, what goodness we have on our own is weak and flickering at best. It cannot be counted on to save us from the darkness that is closing in all around us. Such is the helplessness and frustration and fear we feel as we thread our way through the worries and tragedies and tensions of life. Our strength sometimes wanes, and we wonder if we’ll make it.

But the meaning of Advent is this: Just as the rays of our own light are about to go out and we fear that we will be consumed by the darkness, just then a light shines on us from outside ourselves, a light far more brilliant than anything we could manufacture. This light, this salvation for our darkened lives, is from God. The Sun of Righteousness is the Righteous Son of God, whom God has sent to light the way for us unto all eternity. With him the energy to fuel the light is inexhaustible. We need never fear the darkness again.

Advent is the invitation to crawl out of the darkness and stand up in the light. Your eyes must get adjusted to the new brightness. There is growing to do. Sometimes the light itself will seem to be a little scary, and you may be tempted to retreat into the familiar darkness of the cave. But once you grow used to the light and take more and more of it in, the more certain you become that this is where you belong.”

So here is my prayer for you as we approach the fourth Sunday of Advent: May Jesus light up your life and your world this Christmas and always. Amen.

From: “A Child Is Born”                                            

Scripture: Isaiah 9:2-7

Preached at Calvary United Methodist Church,

Easton, PA

An Unlikely Hope

This Sunday, the Third Sunday of Advent, we will be lighting the candle of Peace on the Advent wreath at Newtown United Methodist Church. In a passage from Isaiah that's often read during Advent, the prophet casts an idyllic image of future peace for the People of God when he writes:

The wolf live with the lamb,

And the leopard will lie down with the goat,

The calf and the lion and the yearling together,

And a little child will lead them.
-Isaiah 11:6 (NIV)

Linton Memorial Park - Newtown, PA

One winter evening in 1980, my father happened upon a scene which, when I first read his description of it, etched in my mind something of the meaning of this famous line from Isaiah: "And a little child will lead them." Here's what Dad wrote:

"I pulled to a stop at a red light at the intersection of 6th and Northampton Streets in Easton, Pennsylvania. This was a section of the city besieged by urban decay, a place where the tragedy of urban living was at its worst. As I waited for the light to change, a poorly clad girl of about 8 or 9 years of age led a man by the hand whom I judged to be her father – a man who was drunk and could hardly keep his balance. The girl carefully led him off the curb and slowly across the crosswalk in front of my car, pulling him, steadying him, urging him on, until they reached the other side, and presumably from there made their way home in similar fashion. As I watched this scene unfold, a deep emotion flooded my soul as I realized how God sends his love and care to us, even when we are at our disgustingly worst – in the most fragile and unlikely ways, even in a little girl such as this one.

We live in a world that is very dark, ugly and dangerous, just as it was that cold night at 6th and Northampton Streets. Sometimes this dark ugliness is within us, sometimes it is around us, but in either case God always sends signs of hope, fragile signs, signs which we can perceive only with the eyes of faith. Strange as it seems, Christian hope is often found in unlikely places. In fact, Christian hope has a way of burning brightest on the most darkened stage. Christmas, coming when it does, reminds us of this. Christmas is not observed in the beautiful springtime. It is celebrated at the dark winter solstice. The date of December 25th does not have historical importance. Instead, it has theological importance.

The ultimate hope for us resides in a baby laid in a manger in a backwater town called Bethlehem. Such an unlikely hope! And yet God’s word and our Christian experience tell us that Almighty God himself came to visit us in that humble child. He came to show us that he loves us still, in spite of the darkness within us, and he wants us to love him. God’s love comes gently as a child. It doesn't coerce or overwhelm. It doesn't dazzle or manipulate. God’s love comes quietly, as quietly as the cry of a newborn. It is God’s subtle yet forceful reminder that God’s kingdom is on the horizon, and if we quiet our restless lives and allow it, God will fill us with his love. God will fill us with himself. This allowing God to fill us is faith, and faith is the way we know that, unlikely hope though he may be, this baby Jesus is indeed our Savior."

From: "An Unlikely Hope"
Scripture: Isaiah 11:1-9; Matthew 11:2-11

Between Two Advents

Tomorrow is the second Sunday of the season of Advent – a time of preparation for Christmas and the birth of the Son of God as a baby in Bethlehem. But did you know that Advent is not simply about looking back to Christ's birth? It's also about looking forward to His promised second coming. In one of my father's Advent sermons, he explained that we live “in a unique time-frame which relatively few other people since the beginning of time have known. … We are living between two Advents.”

“Traditionally, Advent not only has been the season of anticipation of Christ’s first coming into the world as a baby in a manger, but also has been a time to anticipate His second coming in glory at the end of history to establish his rule of righteousness and peace. … There is the first Advent, the revelation of God’s grace through Jesus the Christ, who came in the form of a man. … And then there is the second Advent, the final revelation of Jesus Christ as Lord and King over all people and all creation. This Advent yet-to-be will signal the ultimate triumph of the Kingdom of God. This is the hope of our gospel faith. With belief in these two Advents, we are enabled to live our Christian life in a fallen world. These two Advents are what keep us going.”

“Advent simply means ‘coming.’ … The first Advent or Coming, taken as unit, which is how it must be seen – Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection – is the guaranty of the defeat of evil, the down-payment on our ransom. Christ came into the world, subjected himself to everything that Satan could throw at Him, even died at the hands of evil men, but He rose victorious. He broke the back of evil. And so now it remains for you and me to spread this wonderful news, to give all people the opportunity to hear and believe it, so that when He returns to claim His kingdom and formally establish His rule, He will find happy, willing, and believing subjects to enjoy it with Him forever.”

“As bad as things seem to be these days, the Christian is given strength to hope [by the two Advents]. … We live day-to-day, fighting our skirmishes with evil, living the Christian life, but with our heads up, watchful, knowing that our salvation is always drawing nearer. There is great comfort and encouragement throughout all of the stresses and strains of living when you know that the Lord is there at the end, waiting to take you unto Himself.”

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy who sat on his father’s lap, sobbing because the next day was to be his first day of school and he was afraid. Until this point, his father had been with him in all that he did, and so now he wanted his dad to go along to school tomorrow and stay with him all day. But, of course, the father couldn't do that; this, the boy had to do alone. But his father succeeded in comforting the boy with these words: ‘I have been with you for the last six years and you know that I love you. Tomorrow when you go to school my body will not be with you, but I will think about you all day and, in a way, I will be there with you. And then when school is over, I will come and meet you at the bus stop and we’ll walk home together and you can tell me all about your day.’ The child was comforted by these words because this new, untested, and fearful experience was bracketed on either side, before and after, by the presence of a loving father.”

“This too is your source of strength and mine. Christ came; and Christ will come again. If we’re living for Him in the meantime, we cannot lose!”

From: "Between the Advents"

Scripture: 1 Corinthians 1:1-19; Mark 13:32-37

The Purple Wet Blanket

It took me by surprise last Monday as I walked through the atrium of the Shops at Liberty Place on my way to court in Philadelphia. It was a glistening, multi-storied Christmas tree – perhaps the largest I've ever seen.

Atrium Christmas Tree - The Shops at Liberty Place

Before I came upon that massive tree, I hadn't really noticed stores putting up holiday decorations or Christmas sale flyers in the newspaper or the local radio station that's been playing Christmas music around the clock. I had been hunkered down over the past couple weeks to prepare for a trial, only to be ambushed by the Christmas season on my way to court. 

So after my trial was behind me, I pulled one of my dad's Advent sermons out of his barrel for a refresher course in preparing for Christmas. What I found was a reminder that Advent -- our time of inner preparation for Christ's birth -- looks far different than the run-up to Christmas that we see on the surface as we walk through streets, shops and neighborhoods all decked out for the holiday:

“The color purple is used traditionally by the Church to mark the two great penitential seasons of the Christian year – Lent (the period of preparation for Easter) and Advent (the period of preparation for Christmas). The color purple is the color of self-examination, sorrow for one’s sin, and repentance. It evokes a somber mood, as do the hymns of these two seasons -- which are often written in a minor key. That’s the theory.

The reality is that the Church can pull off a somber and penitential season before Easter, but it’s well nigh impossible in our culture today to do so before Christmas. How do you tell Christians not to celebrate Christmas until December 24th when the rest of society has been doing so since Halloween? How do you tell Christians that in order to truly appreciate Christmas they first need a period of quiet introspection? Many a pastor has gotten into trouble with his or her flock by insisting on a traditional Advent observance – by refusing to pull out all of the Christmas stops until Christmas Eve. More than one has been branded a kill-joy, a wet blanket, if you will. And in this case, you can color that wet blanket purple.

Of course, the important thing is not whether we hang purple or white in the sanctuary before Christmas Eve, or whether we sing dirges or carols. The important thing is that we remember that we can’t really appreciate the fact that God sent his Son into the world unless we know personally why he had to come. I can’t celebrate a Savior unless I understand what he saves me from. There is some personal agony of the soul to be felt before we can really celebrate the hope that resides in the Baby of Bethlehem. Otherwise, Christmas is reduced to a warm, syrupy emotional escape that quickly fades.

The bottom line here is that Christmas is shallow unless we take our own sin seriously. Christmas is God’s first step in dealing decisively with the human condition. Advent is the time when we own up to our sin problem. Most of us modern Christians have trouble with this idea of our own sinfulness. We do not see ourselves as depraved. We readily admit that we are not perfect, but we also know that, relatively speaking, we’re not all that bad. 

Our error here is that sin, as the Bible defines it, has nothing directly to do with morality. As far as the Bible is concerned, the Apostle Paul was as big a sinner as King Herod. As far as the Bible is concerned, an ax murderer and a Girl Scout stand equally condemned before God. That’s offensive to hear, I know. It offends me. Nevertheless it is true, because sin, in the biblical sense, is not what we've done or what we haven’t done. Sin is our innate human tendency to declare our independence from God. Some of us may do this by committing heinous crimes, and others may do it by proving how good we can be, but either way we are telling God to buzz off. Either way we cut ourselves off from God.

The essence of salvation is surrendering our pride, our self-will – no matter what form it takes – and letting God be God for us. Somehow, this must take place during Advent if we are really to have Christmas. Jesus was born, died, and rose again to save us. This is not a three-act play we can enjoy and then, when the final curtain falls, go home to business as usual. It is God acting in history to confront us with who we are, and who we can be, if we surrender to God.

Advent is not a purple wet blanket. It is not really a season on the calendar. It is a season of the soul, a season you must have to prepare for your personal Savior.”

From: “The Purple Wet Blanket”

Scripture: Luke 3:1-20

Preached Nov. 29, 1987 @ Paoli UMC

Thank You and You're Welcome

Over the last three years, I've gone from being the youngest lawyer in my office to being nearly the oldest. Working now with a younger crowd has made me realize that folks don’t say “thank you” as often as they used to. And when I thank co-workers for their help or for a job well done, it’s rare to hear “you’re welcome.” The common response I get is “no problem.” No problem? At the risk of sounding like an old curmudgeon, I don’t like “no problem.” It belittles my thanks. I’m thanking you because it was a problem … or could have been one without your help. Why even say “thanks” for something that’s “no problem” at all?

I had to laugh earlier this week when I read a sermon in which my dad complained about someone’s reaction to him saying “thank you.” I guess it’s true what they say: The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Here’s what my father wrote on saying “thank you”:

“The service had come to an end, and I went to the back of the sanctuary to greet the worshipers as they filed out. Near the end of the line came the soloist of the morning, who had done quite a nice job that day. I told her so and thanked her warmly. As I spoke a look of horror came across her face, and she said, ‘Oh no, pastor! Don’t thank me. Give all the praise to God. It’s not me; He does it all!’”

“That’s not the first time I had received such a reaction when I thanked another Christian for doing something, nor would it be the last. It is common in some Christian circles to refuse to accept personal thanks. I've thought a lot about that reaction from the soloist and others, and while I understand the point they are making, it seems to me to grow out of a narrow and rigid way of thinking about our relationship with God – and an inadequate understanding of our personal and social needs as human beings.”

“It must be conceded that in … Paul’s letter to the Philippian Church, he couches his thanks to the Christians there as an act of thanks to God: ‘I thank my God,’ he writes, ‘ every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now[.]’ (Phil. 1:3-5 NIV) And yet, if Paul only wanted to thank God, why would he put it in this letter so that the Philippians would overhear him? I believe Paul understood the necessity of thanking others for their efforts and accomplishments.”

“Saying ‘thank you’ is a very important Christian grace for at least three reasons:

•  First, it satisfies the need that every person has to receive feedback concerning his efforts. There is nothing more draining than to work hard and faithfully day after day and seldom or never hear a word of appreciation. … Someone is bound to say, ‘As Christians we don’t serve in order to be praised by men, but just to please God.’ That is very true. But how does God express his pleasure to us? Doesn't God often choose to communicate through our brothers and sisters in the Body of Christ? It is good theology to assert that a genuine word of appreciation from a fellow Christian is also an expression of pleasure from God. We all need to hear the words, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’ (Matt. 25:21)

•  Second, saying ‘thank you’ is a healthy expression of our inter-dependence with other people. … Our natural sinful tendency is to see ourselves in disproportion as the center of our own little universe, everything revolving around us. A heartfelt ‘thank you’ can readjust that whole skewed, self-centered way of looking at things, as we realize that we cannot take anyone for granted. Each person in our life is essential to us.

• Third – and most important – saying ‘thank you’ is an expression of our dependence upon God. (I believe this is what the soloist was trying to tell me that Sunday after the service, although I don’t like how she rules out our thanking one another.) The fact is that any good you and I do is the result of God’s direct or indirect action in us. And so, when I thank you for something, I am reminding both you and myself that it is in God that ‘we live and move and have our being.’ (Acts 17:28)"

So, as my dad put it, “thank-yous are in order often and all around.” I'll start by thanking you for your interest in this blog. Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

From: "On Saying 'Thank You'"
Scripture: Philippians 1:3-11

Like or Unlike

Scrolling through my news feed on Facebook, I spotted the post. A friend (of both the real-world and Facebook varieties) had written: "Most people don't know the difference between those they don't like and those who are their enemies. It is a lesson worth learning." Wondering about that distinction, I thought of its implications for the famous teaching of Jesus that we are to love our enemies. I wrote a comment to the post asking, "So if  I love my enemies, may I keep a lengthy list of folks I just don't like?"

As Christians, we know that we shouldn't keep an "enemies list." But we don't see much harm in keeping a list of those who annoy us, those who push our buttons, those whom we would just as soon avoid ... even within the Church. My father addressed this very issue in a sermon called "Walk in Love." Here's what he had to say:  

“There is a modern proverb going around in the Church which I’ve used and which I’ve heard used quite often. It goes like this: ‘A Christian loves everyone, but he doesn’t have to like everyone.’ There’s a certain degree of truth to that maxim, because feelings-wise it is true that we are more drawn to some people than to others. The problem is not with what the maxim says, but with why we use it, and how we use it to justify our treatment of others whom we are supposed to love (‘in Christ’) but whom we do not like. Quite often this kind of thinking gives us a loophole from having to treat them warmly and kindly. Quite often it justifies our avoiding people in the Church we don’t like or just treating them with formal politeness when we can’t avoid bumping into them.”

“What is Christian love for a person you don’t particularly like? Is it just peaceful co-existence in a forever-chilly atmosphere? Or is it striving to like them, always starting out fresh with every meeting of that person – ready and open to befriend them?”

“What should concern us is the hardened stance we take toward some people who rub us the wrong way – as though it is carved in stone that forever we shall be on foul terms with them. ‘I just can’t stand him and I never will!’ There’s no room for this kind of bullheadedness in the Christian fellowship. We certainly have these kinds of feelings about some people, but we should never accept these feelings and allow ourselves to feel comfortable with them.”

“What do you do about someone in the Body you don’t care for? Do you try to stay out of his way? Ephesians 4:31-32 says, ‘Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another …’ Notice it doesn’t say, bestow your warmth only on those you feel warm to. It assumes that warmth will flow between everyone in the fellowship.”

“But someone may say, isn’t that hypocritical? Acting kindly to someone you don’t feel kindly to? You know, it’s amazing how acting like you have positive regard for someone will eventually lead you to have positive regard for them. We usually think that behavior follows feelings. We behave as we feel; that is true. But it is also a sound psychological and spiritual principle that feelings follow behavior; we feel as we behave.”

“I remember one time moving into a community to minister where another pastor was already located toward whom I had quite negative feelings. But there I was, and I had to work with the man for the cause of Jesus Christ in that community, and so I resolved to do so in a warm, positive way. This I did, and as time passed I found my feelings changing, my dislike for the man falling away, and I came to have high regard for his style of ministry. A genuine, spontaneous friendship developed between us. It is a friendship I will always treasure because it was not always so, and it is one I had to work at.”

“No, it is not hypocrisy to say a good word or do a kind act for a brother or sister toward whom you feel negatively. At the very least, these things keep the wheels of the fellowship greased and promote harmony in the body. But at the very most, they chip away at your prejudices and feelings of dislike and give you a new understanding of, if not a new warmth for, your brother or sister. Such action is not hypocrisy if the whole aim is to promote the fellowship and to build new bridges where others were torn down or never existed.”

“‘Walk in love,’ says the author of Ephesians. This is very sound moral advice, but it remains just that – dead and hollow advice – unless we have help from beyond ourselves to put it into effect. We are to ‘walk in love’ as Christ ‘loved us and gave himself up for us.’ (Eph. 5:2) What enables me to walk in love with brothers and sisters whom I might not ordinarily choose to walk with? It is the realization that, … although I was hopelessly wrapped up in myself and oblivious to God and God’s way, God nevertheless acted in love for me. God sent his Son to die on the cross in my place. God forgave me. God forgives me again and again. There is power in your life when you accept this tremendous love of God’s. There is power that enables you to walk in love with your brothers and sisters. Open your heart to the kind, tenderhearted, forgiving Spirit of God. If you do, you will become kind, tenderhearted, and forgiving, as God in Christ forgave you.”

Perhaps it's time to tear up that list.

From: "Walk in Love"

Scripture: Ephesians 4:30 - 5:2

Welcoming The Stranger

When was the last time you were a stranger? For me, it wasn’t so long ago. This past June, my family sold our home, packed up all our earthly belongings, and moved for my wife’s job. Dorry and I had lived in the North Wales area for most of our married life. Our kids, now 18 and 20, had never called any other town home. It’s tough to move. There’s a lot of work involved, disruptions left and right, inevitable frustrations; but perhaps the hardest part is becoming a stranger in a new and unfamiliar community.

My dad once observed in a sermon that “[i]t can be a terrible experience to be a stranger [because] we are meant to live in community, in fellowship with one another.” Dad went on: “Forever etched in my memory are the few trips I took with a committee from my church in summer of 1975 to Fort Indiantown Gap, where thousands of strangers to our shores from Vietnam waited for someone to come and sponsor them so that they could leave the camp and begin their lives over again. I will never forget the longing eyes following us as we walked to the interview center, hundreds of people watching, hoping that we would be the ones to make them strangers no more. And then later, as the family assigned to us came into the crowded room, I watched their fearful, searching eyes as they came to greet us, eyes that said, ‘I am a stranger, stripped of all I need to survive. Will you welcome me and help me to live again?’”

I have childhood memories of that refugee family, and the great work that Grace United Methodist Church did to welcome them to their new home in Millersville, Pennsylvania. That family’s experience as strangers makes my recent move seem tame by comparison. I didn’t come here from a war-torn country on the other side of the globe. I’m just a Newcomer in Newtown. But what the Newcomer family has in common with that refugee family is that we both were welcomed into a church – the Body of Christ – with open arms on our arrival.

As a pastor, my father moved our family a number of times. Speaking of his own experience as a stranger, Dad observed that “the warmth and love and support of the Christian fellowship that I’ve so enjoyed, none of them are mine because I deserve them; and so, I cannot ever take them for granted. God gives them to me daily just because God loves me and for no other reason. When I remember that once I was a stranger to him and to his Body, and then, through others, he took me and taught me and forgave me and enfolded me, then I know that I must always have a special place in my heart for the stranger. For, in the spiritual sense, I once was a stranger in the strange land of Egypt." 

In the Parable of the Last Judgment, we learn that "when we welcome the stranger, we welcome Christ." "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." (Matthew 25:40 (NIV)).  "Welcoming the stranger … is a blessed service given to every Christian that springs out of the very nature of our experience with Jesus Christ. ... Only as we give daily water to the thirsty, food to the hungry, visit the sick, and welcome the stranger do we know what it means to live in fellowship with him. Jesus numbers himself among the strangers to this world. He is one of them. That is where he has placed himself, and if we want to be one with Jesus, we must join him there.”

As I write this post, I am in Duck, North Carolina on a retreat with some new friends – men of the Newtown United Methodist Church:

. 

Joe, David, Dave, Rich & Bob 

These men, and so many others at our new church home, have welcomed me and my family into their community of faith with open arms. Thanks to them, and the Lord they serve, we may be Newcomers, but we are strangers no more.

From: “I Was A Stranger”

Scripture: Matthew 25:31-46

Saints Among Us

Today is Halloween or, as it used to be known, All Hallows’ Eve. 

It’s the eve of All Saints' Day -- the traditional time of year for us to remember and celebrate the saints in our lives. Who are these saints we celebrate? As my dad noted in a sermon he preached one All Saints’ Day, you “[m]ention the word ‘saint’ and usually it conjures up a picture of a not-quite-human figure in stained glass or carved in marble representing the type of person we have never seen and certainly never expect to be – a human being oozing spirituality, practically perfect in every way, incapable of sin.” Dad was convinced, though, that we need to take a broader view when we think of saints:

“Basically, as I see it, Christians fall into two categories: First, there are those who recognize their sinfulness and accept it. For them, the Gospel is the Good News that they can come again and again to the Cross and have their slate wiped clean. They never expect to get any better; just periodically cleansed.

Second, there are those Christians who recognize their sinfulness but do not accept it as inevitable. Oh, they know that they will always sin, but they also believe that God does more than forgive; God renews and empowers them toward greater and greater righteousness. They see the Christian life not just as a periodic cleansing, but also a moving on, a becoming more that they once were – all by the power of God working in them. This later group knows God not just as forgiver, but also as a provider of power. They don’t just accept what they are. No! Until the day they die they struggle toward Christlikeness. When folks look at them, they don’t want them to see human sin; they want them to see the power and love of God forming a new creation in them.

People like this – ‘saints’ if you will – like to spend time with each other. … They get together because they must. It’s not an option. These folks know that the power for Christian growth lies not in hearing true doctrine or sound teaching, as important as those are. Strength to journey on in the Christian life doesn’t depend on great sacred music. Progress in the Christian pilgrimage doesn’t require a silver-tongued preacher or a captivating teacher. None of these are necessary. But what is required is encountering and sharing with other persons who have Christ living in them – the ‘communion of the saints.’

The Church can have the worst choir in the world and Sunday school teachers who bore you to tears. Its paint may be peeling and its preacher may get tongue-tied. But if it has just two or three people who really believe Christ is alive in them, it can be more of a church to you than the one that is polished and professional, but hasn’t the slightest idea that people really can be saints, full of God’s power.

What good is it to know that Jesus stilled a storm on the Sea of Galilee, if there is not someone here right now who can testify that Jesus recently stilled a raging storm in his/her life? What good is it to know that Jesus cast the demons out of a man, if there is not someone among us who knows what it means to be freed from the demonic forces that you and I are prone to?

[When I think of my growth in the Christian faith,] what I remember is not the sermons or anthems I’ve heard, not the Sunday school lessons I sat through, not the films I watched, the campfires I sat around, the retreats I attended, or the tens of thousands of prayers I closed my eyes for. What I remember, and what impressed me most was the Rev. Dr. Ehrhart, and how he used to cry when he preached because he so strongly believed what he was saying; skinny old Mrs. Graver, one of my early Sunday school teachers, whose faithfulness far outshone her effectiveness; Mr. Lloyd Lefever, a farmer, who taught us senior high boys with obvious sincerity; the Rev. Dr. Peiffer who took a personal interest in me and encouraged me to pursue the ministry; a mother and father who each in their own way encouraged and affirmed me; a loving wife who receives so little and gives so much; and many others in every church I’ve been privileged to serve.

If you ask me how I know about the power of God and how it can work in a human being, I can do nothing more than point to these people – the ‘communion of saints’ as I have known it, as it has touched me.  The saints aren’t in stained glass windows, and the saints aren’t always perfect, but once in a while – and especially when they’re together – the Son-light shines through and you know, you just know, that God is there.”

So, who are the saints in your life? Who are the people -- past and present -- who make God real for you? This is the perfect weekend to thank them, and to thank God for them. Happy All Saints’ Day, my friends!

From “The Communion of the Saints”

Scripture: Ephesians 1:11-23

Make the Church Together

I enjoy keeping up with the latest news, but I completely understand my wife’s desire to avoid it. All too often the news – whether international, national or local – overflows with accounts of darkness, death and despair. Just last Friday, for instance, came word of yet another school shooting – this one in the state of Washington.  Three teens, including the shooter, died. Two others were hospitalized. Another community would be haunted by questions that had no easy answers.

Flipping through some of my father’s sermons last night, I came upon one that reminded me that we're hardly the first generation to deal with horrible events like these. In 1985, a 25 year-old woman suffering from mental illness went on a shooting rampage at a shopping mall in Springfield, Delaware County, PA – less than 15 miles from my father’s church.  The shooting left three dead – including a two year-old boy – and seven wounded. As my dad stood in the pulpit a few weeks later, he passed along a story that he heard in the wake of the tragic events of that day at the Springfield Mall. It’s a story about the very nature of Christ’s Church – a story of how we all make the Church together. Here’s what he said:

“Bruce Hazelwood, the pastor of Covenant United Methodist Church in Springfield, told a small group of us pastors the other day of a powerful event that grew out of the aftermath of the tragic shooting several weeks ago at the Springfield Mall. Dr. Trout, who was critically wounded in that shooting, is a member of Bruce’s congregation. [A]s his pastor, Bruce was at the hospital soon after Dr. Trout and the other victims were brought in. Killed in that sad event, you remember, was Recife Cosman – a little boy from Chester who with his family are from one of our United Methodist Churches in Chester. The Cosmans’ pastor was also there at the hospital, of course, attempting to bring support and comfort to this family in this time of the sudden, senseless, and overwhelming loss of their little son.

After things settled down a bit and all the emergency medical needs had been attended to, the hospital provided the families and pastors with a room in which to gather. Many hospital staff members also were there, for they too had been deeply affected by this terrible event.

As the pastor from Chester read words of comfort, Bruce said he looked around and realized what an amazing sight he was privy to. The room in which these people had crowded to seek comfort from God and each other was the lounge of the maternity unit; all of its decorations and appointments spoke of new life. There was a white nurse holding a black baby, and persons of every age, professional people, laborers, and the unemployed. Black and white from Chester and from Springfield, holding one another, acknowledging in that moment their need of one another, and their need of God. The diversity and the unity in the setting of that maternity lounge was a powerful witness.

Bruce said that in that moment there was etched in his mind this model of what the Church really is – a gathering of diverse persons from every age and station and walk in life, persons bound to one another in mutual love and support, bound together by the Lord in whom they find their common ground, while the earth trembles beneath their feet, and all of this taking place within the context of a promise of new life and hope for those who will continue to make the Church together.”

From "Make the Church Together"

Acts 6:1-7; Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-16