The Bungee Cord   3-31-14

Hello,

Now that the spring has arrived, all that was hidden under the snow has appeared much to the delight of my dog, Duncan.

A week or so ago Kate let him out to do his morning business.  In addition to doing what he is supposed to do, he also likes to do a bit of exploring around our property.  On that particular morning it was quite apparent that he had explored and his exploration was successful. 

I was just waking up when Duncan came bounding into the room with Kate close on his tail.  As he approached, I was abruptly awakened as if smelling salts had been placed under my nose.  The smell was atrocious.  Rank.  Pungent.  Eye watering.

“He rolled in something,” Kate said, “and I’ve got to get going.  Have fun!”

So, I rolled out of bed and escorted Duncan into the bathtub where after a liberal application of doggy shampoo and a thorough scrubbing, I was willing to be in his presence again.  He doesn’t enjoy baths at all.  He slumps and pouts and is not very cooperative.  After a quick toweling down, he took things into his own hands and shook from head to toe spraying water all over me and the bathroom.  Another mess to clean up.

I followed up with a shower of my own, and went off to work.  Later in the day, I returned, and as usual, I let Duncan out.  He darted out of the house and headed out into the woods.  I called for him, but I may as well have been shouting into the wind as he had no desire to listen to me.  His mind was set….set on rolling in whatever he had rolled in before.  Sure enough, in about 10 minutes he was back carrying that smell that brought gurgles to my stomach.  I threw him in my man cave so he wouldn’t smell the whole house up again, and I went to get the shampoo and hook up the outside hose for his second washing of the day.

 As much as he hates getting sprayed down and soaped up, you would think that he would learn that the odor that he so much enjoys to roll in is not equally admired by me.  I find myself wondering what is it about that smell that is so attractive to him?  I think that the smell comes from something that has died and has begun to rot now that the winter freeze is over.  What is so attractive about rolling around in the smell of death?  It makes no sense to me.

I suspect that God struggles with the same question as God sees us rolling around, over and over again, in the smell of death (“the wages of sin is death” Rom. 6:23).  God must wonder what is so attractive about rolling around in gossip that kills relationships.  God must wonder what is so attractive about rolling around in defaming God’s name bringing death to the hope that so many need.  God must wonder what we find so attractive about the smell of rolling around in greed that has suffocated us and everyone around us?  It must make no sense to God.

Nevertheless, God does for me whom he loves as I do for Duncan whom I love.  He gets out the cleanser – the powerful cleanser of Baptism that has anointed me in a grace that the stench of sin can never fully penetrate, and scrubs me up week after week as he comes to me in, with, and under the bread and wine of his supper.  Although God may not understand why I continue to roll in death, God understands the depth of God’s love for me, a love that will not let the stench of sin keep me from him, nor let the stench of sin expel me from the family of faith.  So every time I roll in death…..God graciously washes me…..washes me clean.

Even I know that the grace of God smells a lot better than the stench of sin, and it is my hope…and God’s hope, too….that the aroma of grace will capture my life and my nose, so that my attraction to rolling around in the stench of death will not be something that I so often dash off to do…..for God’s sake, for your sake, and for my sake, too.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 3-24-57

Hello,

     Cabinets installed….all still hanging!

     I have spent the weekend in Denver visiting one of my sons.  The purpose of my visit was to lend my skills (?) in his second DIY kitchen renovation.  A couple of years ago I made the same trek to Denver for kitchen reno #1 that involved tiling the floor, constructing a shelf, setting a countertop, installing a microwave,  and putting in a new sink.  The plan for this reno was to remove the existing cabinets (hopefully in one piece so they can be used in his garage), remove and salvage the countertop and sink for replacement, remove and reset the microwave, take out a part of a wall, and the big job…install new cabinets.

     In full disclosure it needs to be said that I have not done any of the things on his reno plans prior to my visits….and neither has my son.  “It will be easy, dad,” my son would say, his youthful sense of adventure far outweighing mine.  We managed our first reno adventure  with no mortal injuries, although we did hit an electrical wire when we drilled into the wall sending sparks aflying and melting the drill bit.  So, I had confidence that we would also survive this second journey into the unknown.

     7:30 Saturday morning with coffee under our belt, we began unloading his old cabinets and before noon all the cabinets were emptied and the top cabinets were down…..in one piece!  With a little coaxing with a hammer, we removed the countertop, the microwave, and the kitchen sink.  Victory.  The bottom cabinets, though were a bit more stubborn.  Finally they gave way to our brawn, and by late afternoon we were  ready to start hanging new cabinets.  “I suppose we should watch the installation video,” said my son.  So we watched the two minute video, considered ourselves readily prepared, and began drilling holes, applying brackets, and lifting the cabinets to the wall.

     Sunday morning we went to church, and when sunset arrived our project was finished.  Cabinets hung, wall removed, water lines reconnected. As I sit in the Denver airport on Tuesday morning, the cabinets have not fallen, the water is not spraying, and the ceiling has not come down.  Alleluia….(oops…it’s Lent….supposed to wait until Easter to say that word….but even though the success of our project does not match the victory of Easter….it seems at least a reserved “Alleluia” is due.)

     I suspect that many of us feel as ill prepared to take on the adventure of inviting people to church as I felt prepared to tackle kitchen renovations.  Not wanting to force our beliefs on others as if wielding a heavy sledge hammer, nor wanting to strike a nerve and send sparks flying, most of us leave the inviting work to the professionals.  I read somewhere that the average Lutheran (I am Lutheran) invites someone to church once every 29 years.

     Standing on this side of a kitchen renovation I find myself amped with a bit more courage to take on the adventure of inviting someone to church….how about you?  “Just wondering if you would like to join me at church on Sunday morning?  (It doesn’t matter that you may not be able to come to First Lutheran of Greensburg…the amazing thing about God is that God’s presence in worship unites us no matter where we are.)  When I start my week off in worship, I find myself re-grounded in the grace and mercy of God, transforming me and transforming the way that I look at and live in the world.  Hope transcends hopelessness.  Forgiveness overwhelms guilt.  Generosity chips away at greed.  Joy displaces despair.  Peace washes over fear.  Like a major kitchen renovation, the hour that God works on my life on Sunday morning “makes all things new” (2 Cor. 5:17) in me.  Just wondering if you might like to join me at worship on Sunday?”

     As my son said after the cabinets were hung, “See dad, that wasn’t that hard.”, neither was inviting you to worship…..maybe you would like to invite someone, too.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

The Bungee Cord - 3-17-14

Hello,

     This past week I learned that my internship supervisor died.  Thirty-three years ago he took me under his wing for a year, patiently taught me from his years of experience, and I am sure that on more than one occasion swallowed hard and let me learn from my mistakes.  Thanks, George.

     The last time I saw George was in June, 1983 when he came to be part of my ordination.  He was one of the many pastors who placed their hands on my head and prayed for me as I began my pastoral calling.  Since then our paths have never crossed.  I heard that he left the parish ministry and went on to serve God as a Nursing Home director.  I have gone on to serve churches in suburban St. Paul, urban Toledo, small town Ohio, downtown Sioux Falls, rural Sioux Falls area, and a county seat in S.W. Pennsylvania.

     George taught me a lot of things that have served me well over these three decades of pastoral ministry and in the varied settings that I have served.  It was with George that I learned that when you make a shut in call and an 85 year old lady has brewed a pot of coffee for you and baked a cake, you drink the coffee even though you aren’t a coffee drinker, and you eat the cake even if it is 10:00 in the morning.  I learned that when you’re the narrator for the spring choir cantata, you show up and do your best.  (George was so sick that he disappeared out the back door during one of the songs, emptied his stomach, and without anyone knowing what he had just done, finished his part with the choir.)  I learned that when tragedy happens (an RV exploded in fire, taking the mother’s life and severely burning a toddler and infant daughter), you pray to God for the strength that you need to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and God gives it to you.  I learned that sometimes when you had no intentions of doing so, a person can get offended by what you do or say, and when that happens the best thing to do is to try and talk to that person.  I learned a lot from George.

     Of course, George didn’t teach me everything in that year that we spent together.  I learned later in my ministry how draining the day to day ministry can be; being the shoulder for others when life falls apart, modeling forgiveness when a person stands face to face with guilt, trying to provide a worship service and sermon each week that is worthy of the One who has died on the cross, swimming in shark infested waters.  I learned later in ministry how isolating the life of a pastor can be as you carry your vocation into your neighborhood and community.  I learned later in life that ministry is far more art than science.  George taught me a lot, a great foundation for what I have learned over the years.

     The last memory that I have of George is his hand on my head, praying for me as I began the rugged path of pastoral ministry on which he had guided my beginning. Thank you George.  Thank you, also, to all of you who have walked the path of pastoral ministry with me – parishoners, friends, family, Bungee Cord readers – who have placed their hands on my life and prayed for me as I continue to learn.   I hope that through me and in spite of me, the grace of God has shaped your lives in the same way that God’s grace shaped my life through George’s gentle care.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

3-10-14
The Bungee Cord

Hello,

     Yesterday my alarm went off at 6:30, but I knew it was really 5:30.  As I drove down our lane to the main road a bunch of eyes caught my lights and shone in surprised gaze at me, a herd of deer wondering what I was doing coming toward them at this hour.  As I rose over the ridge in my car with the eastern sun rising behind me, a pair of deer hopped onto the road in front of me, and instead of perpendicularly crossing the road, they leisurely took a stroll in the middle of the road in the direction that I was going refusing to get out of my way.  “At this time of the morning,” they seemed to say, “this road is ours!”

     I don’t know how long we have been toying with time, giving an hour to the day in the fall, and stealing one in the spring.  The truth is, and the animals know it, our temporal fiddling is really just an illusion.  No matter what we do with our clocks, each day will always be a few ticks longer than 24 hours.  We play around with time. We try and manage time.  We seek to make the most of time.  But in the end, we cannot create time nor eliminate time.  Time is not really in our hands, rather we are bound in the hands of time.

     But the Bible tells us that when the time was right, God sent his Son to die.  He who not only fills all time and space, but is beyond all time and space, took a solitary place within time and space in order to wrest us from the grip of time and hold us in his hands forever.  So, rather than just tick by as if marking revolutions in a hamster wheel going nowhere, each minute of time is now saturated with the eternal presence of God, giving our deeds and days eternal consequence.  And when time comes to an end, whenever that might be, the one who took hold of us in the midst of time will hold us tight in a timeless bond.  Nothing in all of creation, and time is part of creation, says the book of Romans in the Bible, will ever be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus

     Back in the 1500’s it is said that someone asked Martin Luther what he would do today if he knew that time would end tomorrow.  He is supposed to have said, “I would plant a tree.”  What he meant by that is if every moment if full of eternal grace, something that is worth doing that might last centuries, is worth doing even if it only lasts a second.  Maybe you wouldn’t plant a tree, but maybe you would bake cookies for a friend, speak a word of forgiveness to someone you have hurt, work to fill one child’s hungry stomach with one meal…..

     What would I do today if I knew that time was ending tomorrow?  Well, I think I will stick with Martin Luther’s answer…..plant a tree (figuratively, that is)….but it won’t be at 5:30 in the morning!

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

The Bungee Cord - 3-3-14

Hello,

     As you who regularly read the Bungee Cord know, I have made myself a Man Cave with quadraphonic University of Illinois garb blasting from each of the four walls.  Lately, it has been a place of mourning and weeping and gnashing of teeth as the Illini have taken their place in the football and basketball rankings in the locale of my Man Cave….the cellar.    Ah, but no sunshine fan here…maybe next year for the Illini…ahhhhh…… probably not.

     So as I developed my layout for my Man Cave, I determined that there are certain things that a Man Cave must have… a T.V. (check), a stereo (check), a Man Cave rug (I found one on the internet that says in bold letters “ILLINI MAN CAVE”… check), a game table (I went with ping pong over a pool table or card table as I don’t gamble and I can use the moderate exercise that ping pong delivers… check), and a dart board (check).

     Mind you, I haven’t played much darts in my five and a half decades of life, but it does seem to be a mandatory piece of man cavedom, and it is also one of those things that an aging person can learn to master.  So, I build a wooden backing that is about  four feet by four feet suspended on the cinder block wall on which to hang my dartboard. I covered it with cork, and set my dart board in the middle of it.  I was pretty proud of my carpentry work, yet as I eyed it, I could tell that it was not complete….it was neither orange or blue.

     So, I went to the local WalMart to get some burlap that I could stain orange.  I found the burlap, but there was no orange stain to be found (heresy!), but being a graduate of Madison elementary school I know that orange can be created by mixing yellow and red….two colors that were there.  So with burlap and dye in hand, I returned home to bring my dartboard backing up to par.

     I have never worked with dye before, but the directions seemed easy enough…heat some water…dump in some salt…and stir the dye in.  So, that is what I did…..and in doing so, I discovered something.  I began by dumping the red dye in, and then proceeded to follow with the yellow, and much to my surprise….no matter how much yellow I dumped in, the red overpowered it, and the dye stayed red.  So, off to WalMart I went again to purchase another set of dye packages….red and yellow.  This time, when I set off to do my dying, I started with yellow, and sprinkled in the red….and I discovered something this time, too…. It doesn’t take but a pinch of red to turn yellow to orange.  Actually, I feared that the small amount of red had overwhelmed my yellow to the point that I had created something far more red than orange…but when the burlap dried, I was satisfied with the orange that it had become, albeit a bit redder than I had hoped.  Red is an overpowering color!

     My dying (pun intended) experience was a great entrance into the upcoming season of Lent, the time when Christians ponder the passion of Christ that led him to die and shed his blood on the cross, red blood that has made its way into my life.  And this Lent, as I consider my relationship with God, I will do so having seen the overwhelming power of the color of red….red that I have come to see overpowers my weak yellow….yellow so weak that no matter how much I might dump into my relationship with God, the relationship is still dyed with the color red.  Red because as the Bible tells me, my relationship with God was begun by God, emptying himself into my life…holding nothing back….not even a drop of Jesus’ blood.

     This Lent, as I toss darts at my dartboard, with each throw that I make, I will remember the power of the color of red….the power of Jesus’ blood….a power that with a pinch turns yellow to orange, and a power that when the packet of red is emptied completely…..it is unchanged by an entire packet of yellow.

     Thank you, Lord, for the powerful love and forgiveness with which you have dyed my life.

Have a great week!

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

P.S. – Lent begins this Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, where we begin these 40 days of Lent, marked with a cross of ashes, ashes that we see every time we look into the mirror, an image that tells us the truth, that if not for Jesus death on the cross, we would have nothing to hope for but ashes.