Bungee Cord 9-30-13

Hello,

I was just finishing locking up after worship yesterday when I heard my name being called from the landing near the doors to our educational building.  I followed the call of the voice down the stairs to find one of my parishioners standing next to a young man who had indicated to her that he needed to talk to the pastor.  The thin young man wore cut off camouflage pants, a hoodie that was printed with countless number of skulls.  His hair was dyed yellowish/blond, his fingernails were painted black, tattoos covered his arms, and he had a piercing halfway between his lip and his jaw.  He had the smell and look of showerlessness, and over his shoulder was a black backpack.

The reason he was in need of talking to me was that he had come to Greensburg to present some papers to the court in order to gain custody of a 1-year-old daughter that had been placed in the foster care system.  His buddy brought him to Greensburg, but then abandoned him, and stranding him.

These sorts of encounters are pretty commonplace for me and other pastors, and over the years I have developed some personal rules for dealing with them.  One of those rules is that we are not in a position to help people with transportation.  With limited funds we have to focus our efforts on life and death issues, like hunger.

“I am sorry,” I told the young man, “but I cannot help you with transportation.  We just don’t have the funds for that.”

“Oh, I don’t need money,” he said, “I have 20 dollars to give someone for gas to take me back home.”

“Where’s home?”  I asked.

Ready to hear “Pittsburgh”, I was surprised to hear a town of which I had never heard before.  “Where’s that?”  I asked.  Turned out it was the opposite direction from Pittsburgh, about 20 minutes east of my house.  So, I thought for a bit, and seeing it was a nice day for a ride into the mountains, I did what my rules tell me I should not do:  I told him I would give him a lift.  I never give people rides anywhere for safety concerns, but as I appraised this situation, and knowing that my wife would be travelling with us, and it was in the middle of the day…well, I decided that it might be worth the risk to help this young man out.

So, Kate jumped in the back seat of my Mini-Cooper, and he took his seat in front.  I had him sit in front for two reasons: I wanted to keep my eye on him, and I wanted to talk with him on our eastward ride.

Having dealt with thousands of folks coming off the street seeking help, I have become very skeptical of every story that I hear, this young man’s included.  But, I thought that if his story was true, I wanted to support him in his efforts….and if it wasn’t true, I hoped that he would discover that there was someone who actually cared about his station in life.  As we drove I kept the conversation going…where did he grow up?  What did he like to do?  What music did he listen to?  What was the progress in getting his daughter back?

I thought it was a good conversation.  He told me about the death of his sister, his struggle with heroin, his love of “death metal” music, his enjoyment of tattoos, his hopes for getting a job laying granite countertops, his search for a spiritual higher power (he had been raised a Catholic and it was obvious that Christianity was not the direction of his search)….on and on…45 minutes of conversation.  As we talked I knew in the back of my mind that none of what he was saying might have been true, but just in case it was I tried to engage him with caring concern.

I dropped him off at a gas station, where he said he could get a friend to pick him up.  As he got out of my car, I shook his hand and said, “God bless you.  I hope things work out for you.”  He walked away from my car, and I set my car back on the road, westward, back toward my house that I had passed 20 miles ago.  As we headed home, I said to Kate, “Well, I don’t know how much of what he said was true, but I hope that he found out that someone cared.”

Later in the afternoon, as I was relaxing in my hot tub, I thought about this young man, wondering if he taken me for a ride.  Was he laughing with his buddies about the gullible pastor who bought his story hook, line and sinker?  It all left me second-guessing my decision to give this young man a lift.

But as I considered it all, it seemed to me that such is the risk of being a Christian…the risk of being had.  I had judged rightly that he had not been a physical risk, a risk that I do not believe is worth my taking.  But I don’t know…I had risked being played for the fool…and it may have just been the case that I was.  But for the sake of showing this young man the love of Christ that was concerned about him and the life that he was living…I guess that the risk of being played the fool is just part of being captivated by Jesus’ unconditional love for me.

He may be laughing about my perceived naïveté, but maybe….just maybe….he discovered a care for him in Christ that he had never known before.  I will probably never know, but my words to him still remain true, “God bless you.  I hope things work out for you.”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 9-22-13

Hello,

I am a graffiti artist.  I guess that I have been one for a long time, but I didn’t realize it until this morning.

On the way home from worship I passed under an overpass that I have passed under hundreds of times, never noticing what I noticed this morning.  On each of the overpass’ wide pillars were large white squares painted on them, covering up the graffiti that someone applied there.  I don’t know why I haven’t noticed them before, but maybe the thing that drew my attention to these graffiti covering boxes was the fact that I just finished a bit of my own graffiti artistry.

No less than an hour before I placed the mark of a cross on the forehead of a little girl just after she was baptized.  I admit it.  I am a graffiti artist.  My canvass is not overpass posts, building wall,  or privacy fences…..mine is the forehead.  Mostly the forehead of little children held in their parents’ arms, but every once in a while on older children and adults.  Having been splashed in simple water from the tap, and having the stake of God’s claim on them spoken amid the splash, I take my thumb and inscribe with the oil of my skin a cross….”you have been sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”

The problem is that graffiti artist are considered to be vandals and pests.  Having spent some time in an inner-city neighborhood, I learned that the best way to discourage graffiti artists is to paint over their artwork as soon as they spray it on, which is what the city of Greensburg had done on those overpass posts.  It is based upon the theory of least resistance…..with plenty of places to display their craft, graffiti artists give up on the places that resist their work.

But not this graffiti artist.  I know that the moment that little child that bears the cross that I drew on her forehead left our church the world was fast at work to cover it up…covering it up what the world claims is important…hoping that she won’t see the claim that Jesus has made upon her…to love her, to forgive her, to walk with her, to break down the gates of death for her.

Call me a fool, a fool for Christ, but I won’t be deterred.  Every time that I will see that little girl…every time I see everyone who has been washed in the waters of Baptism, sealed with the Holy Spirit, and “marked with the cross of Christ forever” … I re-etch that cross over the world’s cover up.  I re-etch it by greeting each one with the love of Christ.  I re-etch it by marking young children with that very same cross on their foreheads when they come to the Lord’s table.  I re-etch when older children and adults come to the Lord’s Table and the cross of Jesus bleeds through.  I re-etch it when I raise my hand over a casket and ensign a cross.  I re-etch it when I hit the send button and the Bungee Cord makes its mark on you.  I won’t let the world cover up my graffiti.

The world might think that I am a pastor, but that is just my cover.  I’m really a graffiti artist with a Christ driven determination to never let the world cover the cross of Christ up.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Graffiti Artist in Residence, First Lutheran Church

Bungee Cord 9-16-13

Hello,

For the first time in my ministry, no one can say that I talked too long in my sermon….because I didn’t talk at all!

The Gospel reading began with the scribes and Pharisees (two groups who considered themselves pretty squeaky clean in the eyes of God) complaining that Jesus who was rubbing shoulders with tax collectors and sinners (two groups of people who were seen as filthy dirty in the eyes of God) would “welcome” them and “eat with them”.

So, let me draw your mind’s eye into the sanctuary of First Lutheran Church for yesterday’s silent sermon, the enactment of a parable that I have come up with to get at Jesus’ response to their complaints:

As the notes of “Amazing Grace” lift from the piano, I retrieve a card table that is resting in the choir loft in the front of the church, unfold its legs, and set it right in front of the altar.  On it I place a blue and white checked table cloth, put a place setting of silverware on one side, decorate it with a flower arrangement, and slide a chair under the table.  With a waiter’s towel over my folded elbow, I go over to Rocco (the worship assistant for the day) and bid him come and dine at my table, which with glowing smile he does.  After I seat him in my chair, I prepare to take his order by placing a glass of water in front of him….a glass of water that I have filled full of dirty stones before filling with water.  Looking at me with confused eyes, I motion to him to drink it.  He motions back, “No way!” 

Realizing his issue with the glass of water, I take the glass, reach into it with my hand and grab as many of the stones as I can, leaving it with about half as many stones as before.  Graciously setting it before him, he again looks at me with disbelief, still unwilling to drink it. 

So, since the customer is always right, I take the glass again, empty it of all its stones, and then drop one stone in and fill it with water.  Again, as I set it before him, he adamantly refuses to drink of it, even though I declare to him, putting up one finger, that it is only one stone.  But no.  Still he will not drink the water. 

Frustrated with his pickiness, I take the glass, dump out all the water and the one stone, and gesture a couple of spits into the glass and wipe it “clean” with my towel.  I then fill it with water, impatiently set it before him, and with equal impatience with me, still he refuses to drink from it.

So….since the customer is always right….I leave him and the glass at the table, go get a wash basin, fill it with water, put soap in it, scrub the class clean, dry it, hold it up to the light to make sure it sparkles….then I fill it with water….set the glass in front of Rocco, and he with a refreshing smile on his face drinks it down!

So was the sermon…..so is today’s Bungee Cord.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 9-9-13

Hello,

     Regular readers of the Bungee Cord know that on Sunday mornings before our two services I stand out in front of the church on Main Street, greeting people and waving at cars as they go by.  Why do I do it?  Well,  it seems to me that God’s grace is not meant to be kept inside the walls of the church, and so as people drive by I wave at them as a gesture of grace.  In a world where people are all too often forgotten or ignored, I wave at everyone in hopes that they will discover from me that there is one who counts them important, important enough to die for:  God.  Maybe my wave, through the power of the Holy Spirit, will be the catalyst for a life filled with divine hope, peace and love.  Who knows?

     This Sunday as I was waving, up Main Street from the south came an old, blue paneled van.  As it came hissing and squeaking my way, I issued a wave to its passengers.  The driver’s window was lowered, so as the van passed me I could clearly see his arm returning my wave and a rugged, polite smile on his face.  As he was waving, the man who was in the passenger seat leaned toward the driver, and he yelled at me, “Party down!” through his scraggly beard and lifting a cup (ironically it looked like a coffee cup from a gas station) as if it were a stein of beer my way. 

     Quite a greeting to a pastor draped in liturgical robes and garb standing out in front of a church on a Sunday morning.  “Party down!”  True enough, I usually have my traveling mug of coffee with me as I stand on the sidewalk, but I haven’t yet thought to raise it as that man’s cup of coffee was raised toward me and shout, “Party down!”

    But maybe I should.  After all, that really is what every Sunday morning is all about.  It is about  “partying down” in celebration of the victory of all victories when God hit sin with a breath suffocating blow on a Good Friday cross, and sent death to an eternal grave as Jesus walked out of an Easter tomb.  Every Sunday, we who live on this side of God’s victory gather together to celebrate: celebrate that the mess that we have made of our lives does not have the power to determine the future of our lives because our futures are empowered by the forgiveness of God; celebrate that there is nothing in all of creation (Romans 8)…nothing in life, and nothing in death that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus; celebrate that God Almighty….yes, God Almighty…deigns to inhabit our lives.

     We don’t gather every Sunday morning to learn about how to be a good person. We don’t gather every Sunday morning to adopt principles for a happy life. We don’t gather every Sunday morning to find out how to be successful and rich.  We don’t gather on Sunday morning to get away from “bad” people (truth is, we who gather on Sunday morning are just as sinful as those who don’t).

     We gather on Sunday mornings to…….Party Down!  Every week as the world tries to beat us down, as the pressures of life try to bring us to our knees, as our failures try to engrave their tattoo on us, as the world trembles in fear and wobbles in hopelessness…..we gather together to Party Down….not to inebriate ourselves and become numb to the world, but rather to be inspired (in-Spirited) by God to take God’s victory into the world.

     So, as this Bungee Cord comes your way, envision it as a gesture of grace to you, and imagine that as you read it, I am raising a cup of wine, inviting you to come on in and “Party Down!”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord  9-2-13

Hello,

     I usually leave my house around 7 a.m. on Sundays, as I did this past Sunday.  The first thing that I do when I jump into my car is ajust my radio to NPR where a weekly program called “Sunday Baroque” is aired.  It purports to be on for four hours, but I only catch the 30 minutes that it serenades me over the ridge.  Believe me, I am not always so cultured.  Often times when I jump into my car my, my radio is blaring “oldies” (rock music from pre-2000), or sports talk from listening to the Pirates.  But for some reason, neither “Oldies” or sports talk seems appropriate to set my mind for worship, and so I listen instead to Bach, Mozart, Handel and the like on “Sunday Baroque.”

     As I was about half way to work, a piece came on the air that had been written for the recorder.  Remembering the days in grade school when we were taught to play the recorder, I prepared myself for something akin to “Twinkle, Twinkle, little star”.  Instead what I heard was this complicated piece with notes streaming by as fast and numerous as shoppers entering a store on Black Friday.  In my mind’s eye I could see the recorderist’s fingers tapping on that plastic white tube with a red mouthpiece more quickly than a middle schooler texting in English class.  On and on he went.  Never a break.  Never a time to take a breath.  How did he do it?  I was losing my breath just listening to it.

     People who play wind instruments tell me that the secret to playing these kinds of pieces is to learn how to circle breath, which as I understand it is to breath in through your nose as you are breathing out of your mouth.  Sounds like it requires a bit more coordination than rubbing your tummy and patting your head.

     I suspect that there are weeks, and maybe even every week, that your life mimics that recorderist’s piece: the list of things to do and places to be looking like a Bach musical score, and the pressure of the expectations that others lay upon you squeezing the breath right out of you.  No time for a break.  Never a time to take a breath. How do you do it?

     Most of us have learned to circle breath in life, breathing in and out at the same time, multitasking, texting and tweeting.  And as amazingly good as we can be at playing our life’s complex and crazy score, we can’t circle breath forever.  We need to take a good long breath and clear out our lungs.  We need to gather air for the days when the wind gets knocked out of us.  We need to draw our breath in slowly and feast on the fragrances that come with it.

     For me, that is what Sunday morning worship is all about.  It’s about taking a break from circle breathing and just breath.  Breath in……and then breath out.  Clean out the residue of the smog of life as my lungs are filled with the forgiving grace of God.  Take a deep breath and recover from the gut punches the world has thrown at me.  Savor with a slow breath the love and wonder of God’s presence in my life.

     For me, going to church on Sunday morning is not just one more thing to do, one more place to be, one more commitment to fill in a circle breathing life.  For me, going to church on Sunday morning is the deep, lung filled, life filled breathing that I need to carry me through the circle breathing days of my life.

     So, come this Sunday to church….and take a long, deep, and slow breath.  It beats circle breathing!

Have a great week,

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger