Sunday

 

Isaiah 40:1-11 / Mark 1:1-8

 

            There are public events that change our lives, as when President Kennedy was shot or when the first African American president was elected.  There are also private, personal events that impact our lives.   They always have to do with relationships.  A death in the family.  A proposal of marriage.  Coming out.  The birth of a child.  Joining a church.       

 

            Mark’s gospel starts with the announcement of a public event that pulls us into a personal relationship, whether it’s to accept or reject what he says.  He simply writes: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  No if, ands, or buts.  No sissy frills.  These are shocking words.  They demand a response, pro or con.  Or make us ask, “What does he mean?”

 

 

Ps.46 / Jn.8:31-36 / Rom.3:23-30

 

I grew up in Anoka, Minnesota, which, back in 1920, dubbed itself, “The Halloween Capital of the World.”  It’s not because the town was taken over by witches, but because the shopkeepers were tired of their windows being soaped and the local farmers were tired of their outhouses being tipped over, so they co-opted the fun and made Halloween an institution.

 

On Halloween afternoon, all the elementary school kids march down Main Street in their costumes.  Each child is given a brown paper lunch-bag full of popcorn balls and those chewy peanut butter candies wrapped in orange or black wax paper.  But Halloween night is the big deal.  A beauty contest is held and the new Miss Anoka is crowned.  A huge parade of marching bands from surrounding towns as well as floats by 4-H, the VFW, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, and on and on, march down Main Street.  The parade ends up marching around the high school football field in a stadium built into the side of a hill by the WPA during the Great Depression, followed by the biggest football game of the year which is called (wait for it) The Pumpkin Bowl.

 

Ps.90:1-2 / Deut.34:1-12 / Matt.22:34-46

 

Maybe when you were young and in love you said to somebody, “I love you with all my heart.”  At that stage of infatuation, we will do anything to be with our beloved: drive long distances, quit our job and move to another city, risk being disowned by our parents. They’re still married today, but when we were in college, two of my best friends, Mindy and Fred, wanted desperately to spend the night together without anyone knowing, so they rolled out their sleeping bags in a secret place in Fred’s dormitory.  The next morning, they slept too late and the janitor discovered them in the broom closet and they almost got expelled.  But nothing else matters when we love somebody with all our heart.

 

Jesus tells us that the greatest commandment is to love God with all our heart.

Ex.3:1-15 / Mt.16:21-26

Moses is in the wilderness.  His history, like his heart, is full of conflict.  Why is Moses out there in the desert herding Jethro’s sheep?  He’s hiding from the law.  Moses is a murderer.  He didn’t just murder anybody—he murdered one of Pharaoh’s officials.  So he is not only guilty of murder, but of treason.  Think of it: that great prophet, the founder of Judaism, is a traitor, a murderer, an outcast from society.  That’s Moses’ past.

At present, Moses is doing pretty well for himself.  He has married the eldest daughter of a local pagan priest, Jethro, a nomadic sheik in the Sinai Peninsula.  But he does not feel at home, as reflected in the name he gives his son, Gershom, meaning, “stranger in a strange land.”  Many of us identify with the social alienation Moses feels.  His inner conflict is between who he is and who he thinks he should be.  That’s the stuff that God’s call in our lives is made of.

 

Acts 1:1-11

I’m going through a period when I feel myself changing.  Do you ever feel that?  Not a little change, but a big life-changing change.  This kind of change only happens to me every couple of decades.  Like when you get married and suddenly realize that you’re a grownup.  Or the first time a grocery clerk says, “Thank you, sir” or “ma’am” instead of “Thanks, dude,” and you think, “Oh, I guess I’m middle aged,” and start seeing things differently.

The change I’m sensing is that I’m more in touch with the wonder of life and more in touch with my feelings.  A couple days ago, I got a haircut.  The barbershop is on our little three-block Main Street in Evergreen, next to the ice cream shop.  It was a sunny afternoon and there I was, trapped in the barber chair with a sheet tied around my neck, facing the plate-glass window.