Tucking in the shirttail

Easter is a season, not simply one day, in liturgical churches.  So let me, a Low-Church Baptist, tell you about one of my most memorable experiences in an Easter Sunday service.

Pansy and I were in London's Westminster Abbey, sitting in the section known as Poets Corner.  On the row just ahead of us was a middle-aged couple in their Sunday Best.  With the couple were three young fellows of older high school or younger college age, all in neat casual wear.

As we stood and sat several times during the Anglican service, one of these youths caught my eye:  His shirttail was out of his slacks, extending below his windbreaker jacket.

In the Anglican tradition, people go forward if they wish to receive Communion, and ushers that morning signaled each row of worshipers when it was their turn.  When people on the row ahead of us stood, this young man began quickly tucking in his shirttail.

I wondered why.

Did he dress in a hurry in leaving the hotel and simply not bother about tidying up until he got to church?

Did he enjoy the tails-out look but fear the man and woman he was with would disapprove if they noticed?

Was this a conditioned reflex in response to years of etiquette training?

Or was he conscious of a holy dimension as he was about to kneel for a moment to receive bread and wine?

This ritual, by whatever name -- Communion, Eucharist, Lord's Supper, Sacrament, Memorial Supper, The Table -- is the most solemn activity among Christian churches around the world.  It points to the death of Jesus, His self-giving which connects us to God through faith.

In John's Gospel, chapter 6, Jesus calls Himself the bread of life which came down out of heaven and says those who eat His body and drink His blood have eternal life.  That may sound "too Catholic" for us Low-Church Protestants.  But there it is, in Red Letters in some Bibles, as the very words of Jesus.

If we are offended by such language, we aren't the first.  The Gospel writer says, "After this many of his disciples drew back and no longer went about with him."  Not even His intimate group of disciples understood what Jesus meant.

Roman Catholics say the bread and wine become the actual body and blood of Jesus.  Lutherans say Jesus is present in some mysterious way but not with the literalness of Catholics. And we Low-Church Baptists loudly insist, "It's just symbolic."  One of my fellow Baptists said, "We squeeze every once of spiritual significance from the observance."

But what did Jesus mean by saying in John 6:53, "Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you"?

What about this?  We are to identify so fully with His life, death, and resurrection that we absorb the reality of His person into us.

If the young man in Westminster Abbey had absorbed such thoughts of Jesus into himself, no wonder he tucked in his shirttail as he readied himself to receive the bread and wine and in some sense encounter the crucified and risen Christ.

A Baptist looks at Lint -- er -- Lent

It sounds like a joke.  And it may be funny.  But it’s no joke.

The way most Baptists in my generation grew up, if someone said something about Lent, we glanced to see if there was fuzz on our coats.  If the person tried to explain about the pre-Easter observance, our mental ears would shut down and our eyes would glaze over.  That’s Catholic stuff.  I don’t need that.

A pious Baptist woman who wore jewelry would never wear a pendant cross to church.  Likewise, her husband wouldn’t think of putting a cross pin in the slot on his lapel -- even though they heartily sang, “I will cling to the old rugged cross and exchange it some day for a crown.”  

Take a look at the spires on Baptist church buildings.  You’re more likely to see a weather vane than a cross.

It was all part of shared disregard and disrespect between Baptists and Catholics.  We looked down on them, and they looked down on us. Each denomination considered “those other people” to be poor damned sinners.

Lent. Crosses. Ash Wednesday. Advent. We rejected it all because “they” did it. As for Lent, If you could give up something for forty days, why couldn’t you just stop completely?

A slight thaw between Protestants and Catholics began in 1962 when Pope John XXIII convened what became known as Vatican II or the Second Vatican Council.  Because he died the next year, this pope did not live to see much of what he envisioned.  But two conspicuous changes are attributed to his papacy.

To Protestants, the most obvious change was in conducting the Mass in the language of the people of a given nation rather than requiring that it be in Latin.  There was also a more generous attitude toward Protestants, a willingness for dialogue between the groups.  When this spirit became apparent, “our side” responded in kind.  Both “sides” started seeing each other in a different light.

Successors to John XXIII have not been as open toward other Christians.  Some have taken deliberate steps to squelch the spirit he advocated.  But once the window was opened, fresh air has continued to blow, despite official efforts to retrench.

We have begun to see merits in many things Catholics have practiced for hundreds of years, including some aspects of Lent.  

Uninformed Baptists often commit the faux pas of confidentially calling attention to a dirty smudge on a friend’s forehead, only to have friend explain he or she has been to Ash Wednesday service to begin observing Lent.

I confess I have not entered full tilt into Lent.  I acknowledge my need for periodic solemn review of my commitment to Christ, perhaps not unlike the traditional revival meeting churches of my youth conducted twice a year.

In my stereotype, Lent is still mainly as a time for giving up something, although some fresh Lenten breezes include positive actions to combat the negative emphasis.

My one Ash Wednesday experience was quite positive. A few years ago, my wife Pansy and I were in downtown Savannah, Georgia, at noon on a Wednesday.  We saw people going into a Lutheran church, and an usher at the outside door invited us in.  We went in and entered heartily into the service.  We went forward to receive communion, we also received the ashes -- which some evangelical extremists might consider the Mark of the Beast.  When the pastor touched my forehead and declared, “Ashes to ashes, dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return,” it spoke to me of my own mortality in a way I still remember.

Christians can learn much from Christians across denominational lines.

A Conceited Young Man

I remember an older teenage boy named Rick.  His dad and I were close friends as we worked together for Georgia Baptists.  Rick was handsome and well-mannered.  Mr. Personality.  You probably couldn’t dislike him, even if you tried.   On one occasion, I saw Rick in a crowd of other young people. He turned on his personality, almost like a politician working the crowd.  Later, I complimented him for being so friendly and outgoing with the other young people.  Rick flashed a big grin and said, “This time tomorrow, I won’t remember any of these guys and gals.  But they’ll remember me!”
This young man had a lot going for him.  He had been raised by loving, caring parents.  I never shared that incident with his father.  But I realized, despite the way his dad and mother had raised him, this was a self-centered fellow. That was about forty years ago, so I can’t tell you what sort of man Rick became, but I like to believe he grew out of looking at the world through selfish eyes. 
Rick came to mind when I was planning this message because we’re going to focus on a conceited young man in Genesis.  His name is Joseph, and his story begins in the opening verses of the thirty-seventh chapter and continues through fourteen chapters, all the way to the end of the book.  Joseph is so significant that he gets approximately the same amount of space as Abraham, the father of the Jewish people.  Abraham was Joseph’s great-grandfather, Isaac his grandfather, and Jacob his father.  Joseph’s story is longer than the combined space given to Father Jacob and Grandfather Isaac.  
We will leave most of his adult years to some other time.  Today, we’ll focus largely on his years as a spoiled youngster, his father’s pet as the next-youngest of twelve brothers.
We need a bit of background about the parentage of those twelve brothers in order to understand more of how these older brothers relate to Joseph.   Or fail to relate to him.  Jacob is the father of them all.  But four different women are the mothers.  And it’s not a matter of a woman dying and then the widower marrying another woman.  No.  This is in a period when men thought it was OK to have several wives, all at the same time.
It goes back before Jacob got married.  After he gets in trouble with his twin brother and tricks the parents, Jacob flees to the region where his mother’s people live.  There, Jacob goes to work for his Uncle Laban as he promptly falls in love with Laban’s daughter Rachel.  If she is his uncle’s daughter, then she is Jacob’s first cousin. And that was not prohibited in those years. 
Laban seems to agree to this marriage, but then he tricks Jacob into marrying Leah, Rachel’s older sister.  Laban wants the older daughter to get married first.  Well, Rachel is Jacob’s true love.  But he has to agree to work additional years to claim Rachel as his wife in addition to Leah.
In this atmosphere of multiple wives, it’s not unheard of for a man to have intimate relations not only with his wives but with the slave women who serve the wives.  Jacob is eager to have a son by Rachel, whom he really loves.  But, despite their attempts, Rachel does not become pregnant.  Jacob becomes angry with Rachel when she is unable to give him a child.  In anger, he turns to Leah, who, you remember, was his second-choice wife.  
Then, surprise! surprise!  Leah gets pregnant and gives Jacob his first son, Reuben;  then a second son, Simeon; then third, Levi; and a fourth, Judah.  So Jacob is now the father of four, but none of the four is Rachel’s.  
She is envious of her sister.  So, in her desperation, she tells Jacob to take her slave woman, Bilhah.  If Bilhah gets pregnant, Rachel will claim that baby as her own.  Bilhah does have -- not one son but -- two, Dan and Naphtali.  
Leah isn’t going to sit idly by while Rachel claims two sons by the slave woman.  So Leah gives Jacob her maid servant, Zilpah, in hopes that Zilpah can have babies and, thus, keep Leah ahead of Rachel.  So Leah’s slave woman has two sons by Jacob: Gad and Asher.
So, by now, Papa Jacob has eight sons.  But none from Favorite Wife Rachel.   Indeed, while poor Rachel is jealous of her sister and the two slave women, Leah gets pregnant two more times, with Issachar and Zebulun.  
Now, the totals stand: Leah six sons, the two slave women two each, for a grand total of ten.  And Rachel still has none.  Jacob also has a daughter, but girls don’t matter.
With all this jealousy and infighting among the four women who have borne Jacob’s children, we can realize the tensions and politicking among the mothers and, in turn, among the sons of each woman.  It would be clear to the ten older brothers that their father is not happy with any of them as he keeps trying and hoping Rachel will give him a son.
At long last, Rachel does have a son, Jacob’s eleventh.  That son is Joseph.  Rachel will have one other son, Benjamin.  But she dies as she gives birth to this twelfth son of Jacob.
All this, then, is background for today’s passage in Genesis, chapter 37:
[2] This is the history of the family of Jacob.  Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a lad with the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father's wives; and Joseph brought an ill report of them to their father.  [3] Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he made him a long robe with sleeves.
[4] But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him.  [5]  Now Joseph had a dream, and when he told it to his brothers they only hated him the more.  [6] He said to them, "Hear this dream which I have dreamed:   [7] behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and lo, my sheaf arose and stood upright; and behold, your sheaves gathered round it, and bowed down to my sheaf."  [8] His brothers said to him, "Are you indeed to reign over us? Or are you indeed to have dominion over us?" So they hated him yet more for his dreams and for his words. 
[9] Then he dreamed another dream, and told it to his brothers, and said, "Behold, I have dreamed another dream; and behold, the sun, the moon, and eleven stars were bowing down to me."   [10] But when he told it to his father and to his brothers, his father rebuked him, and said to him, "What is this dream that you have dreamed? Shall I and your mother and your brothers indeed come to bow ourselves to the ground before you?"  [11] And his brothers were jealous of him, but his father kept the saying in mind.

THREE HATE FACTORS
We cannot justify the brothers’ hate for Joseph, but there are three factors which can help us understand their feelings:
First, Joseph is a tattletale:  He feels it his duty to report to their father whatever the older brothers do.  In verse 2, he brought an ill report to Father Jacob (who is also called Israel).  This verse also contains a reminder of the tangled family structure which made for strife.  Joseph was a lad with the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father’s wives.  We saw a few moments ago, they would be Dan and Naphtali and Gad and Asher.
In a moment, we’ll see Jacob sends the boy out regularly to report on the older sons.  Joseph is aware  -- all twelve of the brothers are well aware -- that he has a place of privilege, which we will notice shortly.  These four older brothers -- the sons of the slave women -- don’t like the little snip.  So, whatever they do or say, large or insignificant, Joseph readily turns it into a major incident, and that sends him trotting home to daddy.
By age 17, he should have grown past this tattletale stage.  But, Joseph probably had developed this tattling posture to something near a professional level, as a way to attract his father’s attention.
A second reason for the brothers’ resentment:  Joseph is his father’s open favorite.   
Jacob has made no secret of his special love for this son of his special wife. A clear, physical sign of this favoritism is the clothing Joseph wears.  Those of us who grew up reading the King James Version always heard Joseph’s garment called a coat of many colors.  Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice even produced a Broadway show called Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.  But a better translation of the Hebrew words is a coat with long sleeves.
This long-sleeved garment is “Sunday-best” so to speak  -- not for manual labor.  So the very sight of this stuck-on-himself teenager strutting around in his best suit -- instead of work clothes -- is enough to set these brothers off.  
We do well to remind ourselves of the disaster we are courting when we play favorites among our children or grandchildren.  We can’t always be equal in treatment of our children.  One may get honored treatment at one time and another get the spotlight another time.  But long term, our love should show impartially to each child.  Jacob failed in this regard.
A third reason for brotherly resentment: Joseph is quick to sing his own praise. 
In a later chapter, we’re told, Joseph is handsome and good-looking.  Here, we see he’s aware of his positive qualities and  not bashful about pointing these out to others.  
A modern writer boasted that he was good at talking with people and winning their confidence.  But he admitted, after he gains a person’s attention in  a conversation, he stops listening, much like the teenager I mentioned in beginning.  This writer seems very self-centered, like teenage Joseph.
In Bible times, people placed great emphasis on the meaning of dreams. And Joseph’s inclination to toot his own horn shows up as he tells his family about his dreams which put him in a very favorable light in comparison with his parents and his brothers.   In later years, his ability to interpret dreams will play a positive role in Joseph his life and the lives of his brothers and their father.
But his early report of dreams is the straw that breaks the camel’s back with his half-brothers.  Joseph has two dreams whose meanings are rather obvious.  In the first dream,  the family is harvesting grain, each person tying stalks of grain into bundles or sheaves.  Joseph’s sheaf stands upright, and the sheaves of the other family members bow before his sheaf.
In the second dream, the sun, moon, and eleven stars bow down before Joseph.  Father Jacob rebukes his young favored son for suggesting that the family will all bow down before him.  The brothers are very upset over this arrogance.  However, Father Jacob files this story away in his mind for further study, even though he chides his wonder child for telling such a story.

IMMEDIATE CONSEQUENCES
There’s probably very little love between Leah’s sons and the sons of the slave women, but all three groups of brothers unite when it comes to their hostile feelings toward Daddy’s Pet.  These men grew up in an environment of jealousy and strife as all their mothers competed for first place in Jacob’s good graces.  This naturally breeds distrust among the various groups of brothers.
By the time Joseph reveals his dreams of superiority, most of the brothers are looking for the right opportunity to get rid of him, even killing him, if it comes to that.
Perhaps Jacob has regularly sent Joseph to find the older sons and bring back word about their work.  Jacob is getting old, so it’s not easy for him to supervise his wide ranging possessions.  So at some point after Joseph’s dreams, Jacob once more sends him out to look for his brothers.  The brothers probably have been gone a long time, and it probably takes days for him to track them down.
Verses 18 and following tell what happens as Joseph finds the brothers working:
They saw him afar off, and before he came near to them they conspired against him to kill him. 
But two of Leah’s son intervene to try to save the boy’s life: first Reuben, then Judah.
[22] And Reuben said to them, "Shed no blood; cast him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand upon him" -- that he might rescue him out of their hand, to restore him to his father.  [23] So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore;  [24] and they took him and cast him into a pit. The pit was empty, there was no water in it.
We see the callousness of the brothers.  They throw Joseph into the pit, then sit down to eat, with consciences clear.  While they are eating, they see a merchant caravan heading for Egypt with spices.  At this point, Judah makes his effort to save Joseph’s life.  At his suggestion, the brothers agree to sell Joseph to the traders and let them take him to Egypt as a slave.  Reuben is away from the group when they make this decision, so when he returns, he goes to the pit and discovers Joseph is missing.  He fears the worst, but then he learns the brothers have an alternative to actual death:  They have kept the long-sleeved robe, so they kill a goat and smear its blood onto the robe to show their father and tell him Joseph is dead.  This has the desired effect: Father Jacob sinks into deep grief, refusing to be consoled.
These are the short-term consequences of Jacob’s partiality and the hard-heartedness of the brothers.  But there also are long-term consequences.

LONG-TERM CONSEQUENCES
The brothers are finished with Joseph.  Or so they think.  But God has only begun with this seemingly impractical dreamer.  
During that long journey to Egypt with the traders, Joseph probably has some bad dreams -- along with many regrets for his loose tongue and prissy ways which almost cost his life and did cost his freedom.  As a person who looked for deeper meaning of dreams, he most likely did a lot of reevaluating of those dreams of power and his family having to kneel down before him.
When they get to Egypt, the traders sell the tattletale youth to Potiphar, a high-ranking official in Pharaoh’s court.  We don’t know all that has happened in his young life, but he wins Potiphar’s confidence and is given responsibility over the household.
We don’t have all the details of Joseph’s life.  But years must have passed.  Obviously, Potiphar, as a man of authority, would not have turned over the operation of his household to a teenage boy.  As Joseph was growing up, he learned how to get on the good side of his father.  No doubt, he used those same skills to gain a hearing with Potiphar who owned him as a slave.  As he matures, he learns from both the positives and negatives in his earlier years.
Painful experiences can either hurt us or help us.  They can make us bitter, or they can make us better.  Joseph came to see himself in a new light.  His brothers intended to harm him, but we will see, Joseph turned their harm into good.  He recalled how God had dealt with his father Jacob, his grandfather Isaac, and his great grandfather Abraham.  After a time, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob became the God of Joseph. He grew to understand that God can work in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.
Joseph is described earlier as handsome and good-looking.  Potiphar’s wife is taken with Joseph and tries to seduce him.  When he refuses her advances, she tells her husband that Joseph tried to seduce her.  Potiphar can hardly take Joseph’s side against his wife. So he puts Joseph in prison, but he puts Joseph in charge of the other prisoners. 
While in prison, Joseph does more interpreting of dreams---eventually interpreting pharaoh’s troubled dream of a famine coming to Egypt.  Pharaoh hears Joseph’s interpretations and puts Joseph in charge of preparation by storing ahead for the famine.
Again, years pass. In the widespread famine, Joseph’s brothers travel to Egypt seeking food.  They come to Pharaoh’s court and unknowingly encounter their brother as the administrator for the crisis.  He is at least eight or ten years older, and they think he probably is dead.
Joseph has the chance to revenge himself against his brothers, but he has matured.  He assures them of food for surviving the famine and makes himself known to them.  Now, as a man of faith, he tells them: 
God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors.  So it was not you who sent me here, but God .  .  .
So Joseph’s story is one of growth in self-awareness, growth in dependence on God, growth in skills to help others, and growth in love and forgiveness toward those who intended harm.
In his youthful years, Joseph reminds me of a four-year-old named Teresa.  Her parents were close friends of ours.  Often she was the only child in the room when several couples got together.  One night we were talking about things we were interested in and not paying a whole lot of attention to Teresa.  After a while, she interrupted and said, “Why don’t you say something important.  Say something to ME!”
Joseph’s self-centeredness got him in trouble with those who had to put up with his attitude.  But in time, he saw himself in a new light, and God was able to use him in surprising ways to benefit those who had wronged him.

A Fellow Named Melvin Jones

I’m a member of the Lions Club civic organization.  Our Lions International motto is “We Serve,”  but sometimes it seems about all our local club does is meet, eat, hear a speaker, and sell brooms.
That’s judgmental and unfair to our club and to Lions generally.  Selling brooms IS our club’s major fundraiser, and the Lions’ share (pun intended) goes to sight preservation.
A secondary money maker for our club is Candy Day.  For both these funding efforts, we get permission to stand at the exit of big-name national chains and peddle our wares.
If people know anything at all about Lions clubs, they probably know we provide eye exams, glasses, and even eye surgery.
On Candy Day, we give rolls of candy mints to people who make donations.  Time and again over the years, people refuse the candy as they drop loose change, dollar bills, or larger money into our buckets.  They tell me, “Grandma got her glasses from the Lions” or “Y’all paid for my daddy’s eye test.”
When Phil Marett, one of our club members, was elected Lions district governor, he asked me to be his chaplain for cabinet meetings. I gave prayers and brief devotional thoughts.  This, in turn, led to opportunities to bring major inspirational messages at state conventions.
These honors put me in touch with men and women across the state, and significant friendships developed which have enriched my life.  
I never aspired to larger office beyond membership in our local club, but I was approached about possibly running for district governor in my own right. I discouraged this nomination.  Turns out, I didn’t qualify anyway.  A candidate for district service must have come up through the ranks of leadership in zone and regional Lions work, which I had not done.  
Still, I was flattered to know a fellow Lion pictured me in that role.
Money pitched into our buckets from broom sales and donations for candy is mingled with funds from other clubs for major projects in our state and around the world.
South Carolina Lions have contributed millions of dollars, providing state of the art equipment for medical research at the Storm Eye Institute, part of the Medical University of South Carolina.   A huge Lions Club emblem is emblazoned on the exterior wall of Storm Eye in downtown Charleston in acknowledgment of these donations. 
Internationally, children and adults in many countries are saved from blindness through Lions projects.

Additionally, Lions provide relief in natural disasters.  One example: When Superstorm Sandy ravaged the East Coast last year, Lions Clubs International Foundation immediately provided more than two hundred thousand dollars for those whose lives were impacted.  

Many local clubs also rallied, sending money and members to assist in areas hit by the storm.  

Teenage Lions, known as Leos, got involved.  More than sixty Yorktown, New York, Leo Club members and friends traveled nearly seventy miles to Staten Island. They helped clean up an apartment complex that had been flooded by Sandy. Many residents lost everything and were left without a place to stay. The Leos helped empty out apartments and discard water-soaked household items. They also brought hot coffee, hot chocolate and hot soup for those who went for days without power in their homes after Sandy passed through.
If this reads like a lengthy promo for Lions, I guess it is.  But it’s more.  
In the pattern of all service groups, Lions International has a system for recognizing members nominated by their clubs for work they have done.
Lions have an award known as the Melvin Jones Fellowship, named for the Chicago businessman who founded the Lions organization in 1917.
In order for a Lion to be named a Melvin Jones Fellow, the club must contribute one thousand dollars to the international foundation for charitable work.  So it’s quite an honor for a Lion to realize the club has expressed its confidence in such a tangible way.
Often, Melvin Jones awards are given at state conventions.  During the years I spoke regularly at state meetings, it wasn’t unusual for my wife Pansy to go with me.  But this one year, she seemed especially interested in going.  I didn’t think a whole lot about that until my name was called on awards night.  I went forward and became a Melvin Jones Fellow, receiving my certificate from the incoming international president, Mahendra Amarasuriya of Sri Lanka, our featured speaker that year.
You can’t put a price on volunteer service, but I’m not sure my contribution to Lions work is worth a thousand dollars.  Still, I’m honored that my club made me a Melvin Jones Fellow.
A man or woman can also attain higher recognition as a Progressive Melvin Jones Fellow.  But that one comes with a bit of irony.  This usually is not further recognition by the club for distinguished service.  Instead, a Lion becomes Progressive when he or she directly contributes a thousand dollars to the international foundation.  This can be done incrementally over several years.
I make occasional direct contributions to Lions Clubs International Foundation, but I am not ambitious to attain higher recognition in this way.  I think of the admonition in the Sermon on the Mount: when you give to the needy, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.

On the other hand, right or left, these financial contributions in the name of the Lions founder go toward sight saving, disaster relief, youth work, and other worldwide Lions benevolent service.  

So, with or without public recognition, Melvin Jones money from clubs and from individual Lions does what we might call “a world of good.”

A Prayer

I prayed the following offertory prayer today at Anderson's First Baptist Church:


Merciful Father,
Thank you for these moments when we bow our heads and try to still our hearts so we can speak to You and let You speak to us.  
Our minds are cluttered with worries we carried in here.  Angers.  Frustrations.  Things left undone.  Things done wrong.  Trouble with our children.  Trouble with our parents.  Bills we can’t pay. Jobs we don’t like.  Inability to find jobs.  Perhaps a spot on an X-ray.  A car needing brakes.
Lord, we aren’t asking You to help us get rid of those thoughts.  Rather, we ask for grace to believe You are more concerned about those things than we are.  You’ve told us to cast all our cares on You because You care for us.  As the old song said, “Take you burden to the Lord and leave it there.”  That’s not easy, but help us to give it a try.  Right now.
We pray for the people right around us here in sanctuary.  We don’t know the loads many of them carry, but You know and You care.  So open us as a loving community to the cares and sorrows of all Your children.
Guide the music and sermon of this hour.  Guide those who teach Sunday school.  Guide in the food and fellowship and deliberation of those who gather for the business meeting.
Beyond this church, we pray for the leaders of our town and county, our state, our nation, our world.  Bring them to awareness of their opportunity, their responsibility to lift those under their watch-care, the need to work for peace among the nations.
As we dedicate these financial gifts, we also offer all these concerns as part of our stewardship of love and life.  We pray in the name of Jesus, who, though He was rich, became poor for our sakes, so that we through His poverty might become rich in the things that really matter.  Amen.         

Making fun of people in need

The Kingston Trio used to sing about a man named Charlie who got on the Boston subway when it cost a dime to ride.  Charlie had only that one dime with him. But while he was on the train, the fare jumped to fifteen cents.  And without the extra nickel, they wouldn’t let him off the train.  
As the song story goes, Charlie rides all night “‘neath the streets of Boston.”  He seems trapped there forever because he wife goes to the Scollay Square station each afternoon and hands Charlie a sandwich through an open window on the train.
There’s a thread of fact in “The M. T. A. Song.”  At one point, Boston’s Metropolitan Transit Authority instituted an exit fare rather than go to the expense of modifying all the turnstiles in the system.  So, Charlie’s situation might actually have happened, in theory at least.
The song ends as a campaign message for a mayoral candidate who opposes a fare increase.   That, too, turns out to be based on real life.  A man named Walter A. O’Brien had that as a plank in his platform. In the song, he's called George O’Brien.
Charlie’s story is a parody on a Civil War era song, “The Ship That Never Returned,” which asks, “Did she ever return?” Then comes the answer, “no, she never returned An' her sad fate is still unlearned.”  Likewise, at the end of the subway song, Charlie’s fate is still in question.
Of course, the logic of the M. T. A. story breaks down when you ask why Charlie’s wife didn’t hand him some money instead of a sandwich so he could get off the train.  But that would spoil the fun of the song.
At the time the song was popular, a group of us were singing and laughing about the idea in the story.   Everyone was having fun because we couldn’t take it seriously.  Well, almost everyone was having fun.  One woman in the group took Charlie’s predicament to heart.  She saw nothing funny in the song:  We shouldn’t laugh at the situation, even though the song was intended to amuse.  Because this woman felt such compassion for a fellow human in need, she couldn’t laugh, even at a made-up difficulty.
The concerned woman in our group compared us with the rich man in Jesus’s story of Lazarus the beggar (Luke 16:19-31).  In his luxurious clothing, the man “feasted sumptuously every day” while Lazarus lay nearby starving.  There’s no indication that the wealthy man ever noticed Lazarus, much less reached out to offer him even leftovers.  
The bottom line in Jesus’s parable is that the tables were turned in the afterlife, with Lazarus in heavenly bliss and the rich man in torment.
Maybe our somber friend had a point.  Do we ever make make jokes about real people who face real need?  Do we make light of the jobless, the homeless, the elderly?  Is it ever appropriate for Christians to have fun at the expense of others?  Or do we simply ignore their plight?
Some people try to dodge responsibility for the needy because Jesus said the poor will always be with us (Matthew 26:11).  But Jesus was quoting Deuteronomy 15:11 which says, “For the poor will never cease out of the land; therefore I command you, You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in the land.”

The everydayness of everyday

Roger frequently referred to “the everydayness of everyday.”  
An odd expression. 
I’ve worked in several church settings, but Roger had the kindest, most accepting spirit of any minister I’ve worked with on a day to day basis.  We were in a small town in the Georgia mountains, and I thought of Roger as the pastor of the whole town. 
He felt the pulse of daily life -- that “the everydayness of everyday" -- across denominational lines.  As he and I walked down the hill from the church to the small business district, people along the way would greet him as they would their neighbor.  As we sat on stools in a small cafe drinking coffee, everybody seemed to know Roger.  
“What was the doctor’s report on your mother, Sara?” he asked the chair of the altar guild at St. Matthias’ as she and a friend walked by us.  Sara said, “We’re waiting for the biopsy report, Roger.” It wasn’t “Reverend” or “Preacher.” It was “Roger,” from a communicant in the high church Episcopal congregation in response to our low church Baptist preacher.   
As we made our way back up the hill to the church, burly, sandy-hair Bill Compton hollered, “Hey, Roger!” As he trotted to catch us, we stopped and waited.  He panted as he pulled a wadded handkerchief from his hip pocket to mop his brow.  
“How’s it going, Bill?” Roger asked this lay leader from Confidence United Methodist out in the country.   
“Jacky got clobbered in scrimmage yesterday.”
“What happened?”
Bill sputtered, “That overstuffed Gatlin kid knocked ‘im flat and then fell on ‘im.  Probably on purpose.  That boy must weigh four hun’erd pounds. Jacky’s got some busted ribs.  Maybe even a ruptured spleen.  Reckin you c’n git by to see him at the hospital?”
Cancer scare.  Injury for a star quarterback.  All this and more was part of “the everydayness of everyday” in our town.
We’d rather not think of these traumas as part of daily life.  We prefer the old Irving Berlin outlook: “Nothing but blue skies from now on.”  But I’m reminded of a painting in the basement shop in St. Martin in the Fields Church in London.  The artist depicted people in a rainstorm, some with umbrellas, others with no protection from the elements.  In the title, “With Sunny Spells Later,” I think the artist was telling us to expect stormy times in life, with occasional bursts of sunshine.
I recall a daily cartoon strip featuring a man named Ebenezer and his wife Florence.  But they were known simply as Eb and Flo, suggesting the Ebb and Flow of life routines, perhaps “the everydayness of everyday.”
Like the two-faced god Janus, whose name is embedded in the first month of the year, the start of each new year -- and the start of each new day in the new year -- provides opportunity to look back to evaluate and look forward to anticipate the colossal, the common, or the catastrophe, all part of “the 
everydayness of everyday.”

Psalm 90:12---So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.