“In The End there is a Beginning” (I Corinthians 11:23-25 & Acts 2:42-47)

I doubt that he was the first, but it was Bob Dylan who sang it in the early 1960s: “The times they are a changin’ . . .”  But who heeds the words of the prophets?

One of the great joys of parenthood is that eventually your children grow up and if you are lucky, they bless you with grandchildren.  Someone once said, “If I had known how fun grandchildren are, I would have had them first.”  As you know, I love my grandchildren as Dana and I have been blessed with a great bunch.  They are a blast . . . and they are tough.  They must be because they have me as their “Papa”.  Papa is a teaser.  And, as the grandkids have gotten older, they dish it out as well as they receive it.

 

One grandchild in particular, Finley, holds her own with her Papa.  In fact, there are times when she gets the best of me.  Recently she informed me that I was no longer a “man”.  Nope, I had passed beyond manhood into the realm of “old man”!  She is constantly telling me I am an “old man”.  Well, to be honest, that hurt.  She is no longer in the will . . . Christmas from Nana and Papa is going to be pretty bleak for this one.

 

But you know what?  She’s right.  I am an “old man”.  According to the World Health Organization, a person over the age of 65 is often referred to as elderly.  “Elderly” is just a nice way of saying “old”.  I am over the age of 65 . . . I am old!  It is a realization that I continue to come to grasp with every day.  Finley was right.  She is back in the will.  Her Christmas bonanza has been restored.

 

I have to admit it . . . I am old.  With my elder status has come the recognition that at some point the world around me has changed.  Things are not the way they were way back when . . . fifty years ago, thirty years ago, or even ten years ago.  While I was attempting to survive life, things changed.  Paradigms changed.  People changed.  Politics changed.  Education changed. Technology has changed.  Religion changed. It is like I woke up one day, looked around, and wondered, “Where have the good ol’ days gone?”

 

Isn’t that it?  Isn’t that what we all wonder . . . where have the good ol’ days gone?  Especially this morning as we have gathered to celebrate the last service of worship as Joliet Christian Church.  We wonder . . . we wonder how we have gotten to this point.  And I don’t know what to tell you.  For weeks I have been fretting over what I would say this morning because I could give you a myriad of reasons why we are here.  And would it matter?  Probably not.  Yesterday is gone, tomorrow isn’t here, and all we can do is deal with today . . . deal with where we are at.

 

After more than 115 years as a congregation of the faithful in Joliet, we have reached the end of what we once were.  We are here to celebrate the ministry that has occurred in this place . . . the baptisms, weddings, and funerals . . . the potluck dinners, vacation bible schools, bible studies, and a whole lot of coffee fellowships.  We are thankful for those who came before us, who are with us . . . the joy of an embrace and laughter . . . the grief we shared.  The joyful sound of hymns harmoniously sung.  The spontaneous movement of the Spirit.  All within the walls made sacred by the faith we have shared in this place.

 

And yes, they were the good ol’ days . . . but the Spirit is moving, constantly moving.  Changing.  Growing.  That was then and this is now.  As Bob Dylan sang, “the times they are a changin’.”  In our older age we see it and are coming to realize it.  Though it saddens us, we also need to acknowledge that in the end there is a beginning.  Isn’t that the way that God works?  When one door is shut, doesn’t God leave a window open?  Isn’t that how the Spirit works?

 

God does not abandon us.  God is always with us.  In what we see as an “end”, God sees as a “beginning”.   

 

One of the toughest things to accept on the journey of faith is that God does not dwell in a certain place . . . for example, this church, this building.  We forget that God does not reside in a building or a particular place no matter how swanky of a place it might be.  No, God is all around us . . . God is within us.  God cannot be contained in a box or a place.  God surrounds us like the air that we breathe.  God is everywhere and this sanctuary is no more sacred than that room in my house where I kneel and offer my prayers to God.  It is all sacred.  It is in our awareness that we discover the sacred where we are.

 

The other tough thing about faith is realizing and accepting that it is a journey.  Maybe you have seen the memes on Facebook called Big Panda and Tiny Dragon.  They are little conversations between a big panda and tiny dragon who are on an adventure . . . a journey . . . through the seasons and the experiences of life that they encounter.  They are written and drawn by British author and artist James Norbury.  In a recent one that I saw, Big Panda and Tiny Dragon are making their way down a path.  Tiny Dragon is perched on the shoulder of the huge panda lumbering down the path.  Big Panda pauses for a moment and asks, “Which is more important, the journey or the destination?”

 

Tiny Dragon responds, “The company.”

 

Which reveals the third and toughest aspect about the journey of faith . . . it is the company that is important.

 

Those are the three keys to understanding this morning and our purpose for being here.  This is not the end . . . it is a beginning.  Three months ago, in the last sermon I preached in this pulpit, I said this . . . we are on a journey . . . a never-ending journey towards the Holy.  But throughout that journey there are going to be times when we come to a fork in the road.  Remember what I said?  Yeah, I said you pick it up . . . just like that baseball Zen master, Yogi Berra said.  You pick it up and you keep going.  You do so because it is not the end . . . it is a new beginning . . . on the journey.

 

And we do it with those who are with us . . . with those we encounter along the way . . . because, remember, it is not the destination it is the “company.”  It is in the “company” that we discover the Holy.  In some congregations they acknowledge a great truth during the time of greeting in worship—that the Holy is with us, always with us.  In that moment they turn to the people around them and greet them by saying, “The Jesus in me acknowledges the Jesus in you.”  It is the company that makes the difference.

 

In this time of ending the truth is that God does not live in temples or sanctuaries built by human hands.  That God is not contained or confined.  This building . . . this sanctuary . . . is a place of respite during this journey we are on.  But it is not the dwelling place of God . . . God is wherever we are if we are willing to open ourselves to God’s presence in the world around us.  God is around us, with us, and in us.  We are never alone, especially when we are loving and supportive of one another throughout the journey.

 

This morning I have shared two scripture readings . . . one commemorates the last meal that Jesus had with his disciples and his admonishment to receive it in “remembrance of me”.  The other is a description of the early church . . . time before they built temples or sanctuaries . . . a time of beginning.

 

Let us not forget that as we gather around the Lord’s Table that what we are participating in is a prelude to what appears to be an ending.  It is the last meal that Jesus eats with his disciples . . . the end is near . . . the party is over . . . and the hangover is worse than anyone should ever have to endure.  Jesus dies.  He is crucified.  That is a pretty big slamming of the door shut on the story. 

 

Yet is it?

 

Well, we know that it is not.  We know that there is a resurrection.  We know that the disciples go out and share the “good news” of Jesus.  We know that the movement bursts forth from the dying embers of a fire thought to be extinguished.  It just didn’t happen in the way that everyone thought it would . . . it changed.  They devoted themselves to the teachings, fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and prayer.  They cared for one another.  Looked out for one another.  Gathered for meals, broke bread, and ate together.  Through it all they were always praising God.  But there was no “building” . . . no “church”.  There was just themselves and the journey that they shared together.

 

And they were blessed.  The writer of the Book of Acts tells us: “And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being save.”

 

They remembered.  They remembered the one who showed them the way . . . the way to live, to love, and to make the journey.  The Holy was with them.  Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.”  That was not the postlude, but the new prelude . . . the start of a new beginning.  In this church and in our homes, if we are mindful of what we are doing, we affirm this every time we break bread.  This is not the end . . . it is the beginning. 

 

There are no words that I can say that will take the sadness of what this morning represents away.  It is what it is.  Yet, I contend that it is not the end.  It is not the end because we are not alone . . . God is with us.  God’s Spirit moves among us.  And we remember.  The Spirit never stops moving . . . never stops growing . . . always is beckoning us further down the journey.

Thus, it is up to us.  As we old folks like to do . . . we remember.  I love to tell the stories of how it used to be to my grandchildren, but I don’t lament missing the good ol’ days.  No, I offer a question . . . where is it that God is calling me now?  What new adventure does God have for me?  As a lot of Montanans like to say, “The mountains are calling, and I must go.”  This morning, God is calling, and it is time for us to go. 

 

And we go with hope.  We go with hope during this season of hope . . . during this season of Advent.  Advent is a call to new beginnings.  We go because we remember . . . it is up to us to continue the story wherever it is that God leads us.  Fear not for this is not the end, it is the beginning.  God is with us.  Amen.      

 

“The Fork” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-14)

It is not often that the late, great catcher for the New York Yankees is a spiritual master, but Yogi Berra was a great one . . . at least for me.  Some of Yogi’s greatest wisdom:

“You can observe a lot by just watching.”

“Love is the most important thing in the world,

but baseball is pretty good, too.”

There’s some pretty good wisdom in those quotes.  Though he butchered the English language, he made some pretty good points for all of us to think about.

This is the last sermon that I will share with all of you at Joliet Christian Church.  It might seem strange that I begin with witticisms from an old baseball player.  Yet . . . he says what needs to be said.  For example, he said this: “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

And so here we are.  At the finish line of my being the pastor of Joliet Christian Church—fifteen years almost to the day . . . it is over . . . or is it?  Another famous quote of Yogi Berra was: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

Of course, if you know your Robert Frost, you’ll know that Yogi is referring to that famous poem, The Road Less Traveled.  The poem is about a traveler who comes upon a fork in the road.  On one side is the well-worn road traveled by many; the other is a road that few travel and it is in great disrepair—weeds and growth obscuring the road.  There the traveler must decide—which way to go.  The way that everyone goes . . . down the well-worn road, or the road that is in disarray and less traveled.   In the end the traveler chooses the “road less traveled”.  Frost writes:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

I guess he never pictured it like Yogi.  Yogi says pick it up!

 

 And so, I did on my spiritual journey many years ago.  I picked up the fork and it has made all of the difference.

 

Ministry came as an afterthought for me.  In elementary school I was assigned the task of writing about three things I would want to be when I grew up.  The first two were easy . . . an officer in the Air Force to follow in my father’s footsteps, and a schoolteacher.  A teacher who worked with students who had disabilities primarily because of two of my siblings having disabilities.

 

As I said, the first two were easy.  That third one was difficult.  I wracked my mind for hours trying to figure out something I would want to be when I grew up.  Finally, my mother suggested that I put down the first thing that came to mind. Well, I don’t know where my 11-year-old brain was when “minister” popped up, but that is what I put down for the teacher.  Imagine her surprise when she saw that!  If she could see me now at the end of 43 years of being a minister.  I was far from ministerial material then and some would even say now.

 

I picked up that fork.  In fact it was during my senior year of college as I was finishing up my bachelor’s degree in Speech Pathology and being a fairly typical 20-something year old male enjoying college life . . . maybe a little too much.  That was the year that the minister of my home church encouraged me to apply for seminary.  All my friends and family thought I was crazy . . . me, a minister!

 

They probably weren’t as surprised as I was then three years later I graduated seminary and was ordained into the ministry earning the right and privilege of being addressed as a “reverend”.  Newly ordained the road towards ministry laid before me.  Once again there was a fork in the road.  I picked it up.  Me, the irreverent reverend!

 

Since then, I have served churches of all sizes, temperaments, and theologies—seven congregations ranging in size of 150 on Sunday morning to around 20.  In that time Dana and I have served congregations we have had four children and raised them to be good people, seen some of them get married, and been blessed with a bunch of wonderful, beautiful grandchildren.  It has been an adventure . . . a trip, or as the Grateful Dead sang: “What a long, strange trip its been.”  All because I picked up that fork!

 

Now on the brink of retirement—with growing and perfecting 20/20 hindsight—I can assuredly say that I am humbled and grateful for it all.  To those who are here and to those before you, I say, thank you!

 

The Beatles called it a “long and winding road.”  The Grateful Dead called it “a long, strange trip.”  Robert Frost alluded to it as a choice between two roads.  And Yogi Berra said, “take it”.  The writer of Ecclesiastes—our reading for this morning—would say, “So it is . . . a time for everything.”  They would all be right.

 

The story of Ecclesiastes is about a person seeking the great truth about life—what makes life worth living.  The person seeks answers like we all do—is it in great wealth and all that wealth can provide—the good times of wine, women, and song?  Maybe it is in education—learning all there is to learn—becoming wise.  Maybe it is family, children, and all the trappings of domestic life?  Maybe.  But as fun as it was the person did not find what he was looking for.

 

No, it was only when he turned to God that he found satisfaction.  Turned to that relationship—that intimate relationship with God—that he found what he was looking for.  That relationship is grounded in love.  Love for God.  Love for one another.  That is the goal of life.  That is what defines a person.  That is the gain from the toil of life.  This is what Jesus preached over and over—love God—love one another.  There is no greater goal than this for one’s life.

 

Looking back, I know that the writer of Ecclesiastes is right.  Life is a long and winding road . . . a long, strange trip . . . filled with all sorts of forks . . . and if we are going to truly live it to its fullest, we have to pick up the fork.

 

 So, what have I learned after 43 years of ministry?  What stories could I share that will impart all the wisdom I have accumulated?

 

Is it the time I dropped a man in the baptistry, nearly drowning him as he panic, flailing away, while I declared him baptized in the “name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit”?

 

Is it the time that the elderly church organist fell asleep while I was preaching, hitting her head on the keyboard making the pipes of the organ squawk?

 

Maybe it was the time I did a children’s sermon and one little tyke decided to share that his father had stayed home that morning to drink beer and watch football much to the embarrassment of his mother.

 

Possibly it was the time I told a joke during the sermon and ten minutes later a member of the choir started laughing, interrupting the sermon, because he finally understood the joke.

 

Could it be the funeral procession that got lost going to the cemetery, drove all around the town in a long line, and finally having to pull into a gas station to get directions.  And yes, the funeral director was a male.  Or the time I accidentally locked the hearse at the cemetery before we had gotten the coffin out for the graveside service.  Someone had to drive back to town to get the keys.  I was never allowed to touch anything in the hearse again.

 

Maybe the time when one of the ladies of the Christian Women’s Fellowship approached me at a funeral dinner to let me know that the “barn door” was open.  Then she left me wondering if I had done the whole funeral with my pants zipper down.  It did feel breezy and might explain why the congregation was smiling throughout the service.

 

Needless to say, there was much I learned on my ministerial journey.  Some was painful.  Some eye-opening.  Sone quite humorous.  All of it lessons.  Central to it all was the same fundamental foundation of faith—relationships built on love.  Love of God.  Love of others.

 

Constantly through my journey of ministry I was and will continue to be reminded of this fundamental truth.  It is relationships that matter . . . relationships that gets the job done.  This is a fundamental truth we have known since kindergarten . . . at least according to Unitarian minister and author Robert Fulghum.  Fulghum writes: “When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.”

 

“Hold hands and stick together.”

 

It all comes down to relationships—with God and others.  That is the great truth I have learned from 43 years of ministry.  Love.  Loving God.  Loving others.  This is the greatest commandment according to Jesus.  It all boils down to that.  He spent his lifetime preaching, teaching, and living that truth to show us the way.

 

In some shape or form we have all spent our lifetimes searching for that which is the truth of what it means to live.  We are no different than the writer of Ecclesiastes.  And like the writer, the older we get, the clearer that truth and meaning is revealed to us.  In time it all comes down to love.

 

That’s the big secret.  Known, but unknown to all of us.  The life and purpose of a Christian . . . of a follower of Jesus . . . is to love.  Plain and simple.  Everything we do . . . everything that we say . . . is to be based on love.  Love is the key.  It is the key to the Kingdom of God.  Jesus told us this.  Jesus showed us this.

 

Unfortunately, we live in a world that does not love itself.  Just look at it.   Does this world look as if it loves . . . loves itself . . . loves others?  We have a long way to go.  A long and winding road . . . a long, strange trip.  But there is a fork in the road.

 

The choice is ours.

 

I would urge us all to pick up the fork.  Choose the way of love, for it is truly the only way.  Start with yourself—love yourself.  If you cannot love yourself, you can never love another.  Love God.  Work on that relationship.  Love others because you are loved.  Love will change us.  Love will change the world.  You do realize that our sacred book, the Bible, is a love story.  Thus, our lives should be too.

 

So that’s it.  Those are the great truths I have to share.  Though I am retiring from the active ministry, my journey does not end here.  No, the journey continues down that winding road.  It continues to the day I die.  It does for all of us.  Thus, it is that I will continue to strive to love as Jesus loved.  I will pick up the forks I come upon on my journey.  And I urge you to also do so.  Don’t be afraid to love and go forth into the world looking both ways, holding hands, and sticking together.

 

As Bob Hope used to sing at the end of his shows: “Thanks for the memories.  Awfully glad I met you.  Cheerio and toodle-oo.  Thank you.  Thank you so much.”  As the writer of Ecclesiastes writes:

 

There is a time for everything,

And a season for everything . . .

I know that everything God does will endure forever,

Nothing can be added to it and nothing taken away from it.

God does it so people will fear him.

 

Love.

 

The journey continues . . . may we all embrace it.  Thank you all for the love and support, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.  Thank you for 15 years . . . it has made a difference.  Blessings to all.  Amen.