Bungee Cord 6-30-14

Hello,

     Merry Christmas!

     Wednesday was Christmas, at least for the high school youth of our church.  Wednesday’s date was June 25, 6 months after the day that most people celebrate Christmas.  Why celebrate Christmas on the 25^th of June? 

     That was the question that I am sure was running through the gal’s mind that I asked to write “Merry Christmas” on the 16-inch cookie that I handed her.  “Could you please write Merry Christmas on this cookie,” I asked her to which she responded with a confused look on her face, “Excuse me, did you say ‘Merry Christmas?’”

     “Yeah, Merry Christmas.”

     She raised her eyebrows and with the “the customer is always right” look on her face turned around, went to her icing station, scripted “Merry Christmas” on my cookie, and handed it back to me with a look of concern about my sanity on her face.

     When I went to the check out counter, the cashier ran a bunch of my stuff through her bar code reader, and when she came to my cookie she read the inscription, and with the same look as the icer had when she gave it to me, she cast her glance upon me before registering the cookie.

     The young man who was bagging my groceries was mindlessly filling the blue plastic bags with the hot dogs, and buns and chips, but when he reached for my cookie, he, too, gave me a look of wonderment of my mental stability.

     I smiled at the both of them as I left the grocery store.

     I invited the high school youth up to my house for the Christmas party.  We put up a tree, decorated it with portraits we made of each other by passing around a piece of paper and sequentially drawing one facial feature of the person whose name was on the paper until the portrait was complete, and we placed the presents that we had brought (articles of clothing that the youth went out and bought that they would want to wear) around the tree.  We opened the presents which would be going to the local clothing outlet, sang “Happy Birthday” to Jesus, dined on tube steaks and chips, and deserted on our “Merry Christmas” cookie.

     Why celebrate Christmas on June 25^th?

     Because Christmas is not just one day of the year.  In truth, it is every day.  Every day Jesus comes into our lives with the transforming grace of God.  Every day Jesus incarnates our lives with forgiveness that puts the past behind us, and with love that shapes the future.  Every day Jesus pours himself into our lives with uninhibited generosity, filling our cup to overflowing.

     That is why the high schoolers were asked to go and buy an article of clothing that they would want to wear which would be given to the local clothing shelter.  Poverty in and of itself can be rather dehumanizing, and when the impoverished teens of our town go to the clothing shelter to find clothing, only to find clothing that someone doesn’t want to wear anymore, the dehumanization of poverty mounts. 

     The birth of Jesus is the pinnacle of humanization, but when the high school kids of Greensburg come to the clothing shelter to find clothing maybe they will hear a whisper of how valuable they are when they see the brand new clothes from Old Navy, Aeropostal, and AF.

     Why celebrate Christmas on June 25^th?  Because Jesus advents our life every day, and every day there are people all around us for whom the good news of God’s love for them has yet to be tangibly felt.

     Have a great week….Merry Christmas!

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 6-24-14

Hello,

     When I was younger, high school and college, I thought that one could tell if a person was a Christian by the way that they acted.  I don’t think that anymore. Now over 30 years ago, I read Romans 6:1-11,(one of the lessons that was read in church on Sunday) and that changed my mind.  Here’s a parable that I wrote to paint this scripture:

A little boy watched a group of caterpillars accordion their way up a small tree on a warm spring day.  They appeared to him as a high school marching band, crawling in perfect rhythm, millimeter by millimeter, up the trunk now made main street, decked out in their bright striped nature provided uniforms.  Upon reaching the branches, as if there was some final blow of the drum major’s whistle, the band dispersed.  Each caterpillar scurried to a seemingly predetermined locale. The boy’s eyes gleamed with amazement as each member of the band of brightly arrayed caterpillars spun itself into its cocoon as an arctic traveler envelops himself tightly in his sleeping bag.   The little boy returned to that tree every day to see what was to become of these self-made mummies, once a band of caterpillars so full of energy, now motionless for days apparently without life.

Then one day as he was examining one of the cocoons, he saw it begin to quiver.  As a flower photographed with a time-lapse camera, he watched a beautiful and graceful butterfly bloom forth, still bearing a sticky film from its respite in its cocoon.  The summer sun dried the butterfly’s wings, and the rest of its band began to reassemble, each one emerging from its temporary tomb.  When the sun finished its job of drying their wings, the little boy marveled how this band of caterpillars had traded in their old uniforms for much more beautiful and bright ones.  He reached out to touch these newly attired band members, but just as he did they once again began their parade and flew away.  That is, all except one of them.

The boy drew close to this lone butterfly to see if there was something wrong with it.  It looked to him that this butterfly lacked nothing that its now parading comrades had.  Its wings had dried and it flapped them without trouble, yet it did not fly away.  Instead the butterfly walked back and forth along the branch, swaying to and fro as the wind caught its wings, struggling as a young sailor trying to dock his boat while the wind pushes its full sail back out into the lake.  The little boy sat for hours watching the butterfly traverse the branch, each trip a little more difficult, each trip a little slower.  Finally, having lost all of its strength, the butterfly succumbed to the wind and it fell from its branch.

It lay there on the ground not moving.  The boy waited anxiously for it to start walking around again, but it did not.  Puzzled, the little boy reached down and picked up the butterfly and cradled it in his hands.  The beautiful creature was now so weak that it could barely move its wings.  The little boy looked at this worn out butterfly that would not fly, and he said to it, “How can you, a butterfly, life like a caterpillar?

Romans 6:2, “How can you who died to sin go on living in it?”

Have a great week, butterflies!

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 6-16-14

Hello,

     I am not a horse racing follower, but I do find myself drawn to watch the three races of the triple crown.   And as someone who like to root for the underdog, this year’s triple crown had an added interest when California Chrome, a horse whose owners had only made an initial  $10,000.00 investment compared to the six and 7 figure investment of the rest of the entries, won the first two races.  Unfortunately, he came up short in the third race, and its owner spoke some harsh words about the horse that won who had not run the first two races.  The owner was dubbed a poor loser by many, and so two days later, he went on national TV and apologized for the things that he said and the way that he said them.

     I was watching Mike and Mike on ESPN the next morning (as you may recall from a previous Bungee Cord that I am an analyst for Mike and Mike), and they, along with their listening public, got into a discussion on the veracity of this owner’s apology.  Was he truly sorry…after all it took 2 days to issue his apology?  Was he just saying the right things to get him back into the good graces of the horse racing world?  The debate went on and on, one Mike ready to accept the owner’s apology, the other Mike doubting his sincerity.

     How do we ever know if a person is “really” sorry?  What makes a person “really” sorry?  When does a person’s regret become enough to pass the “really” sorry mark?  If a person does the same thing, does that mean they weren’t “really” sorry?  Are they sorry for what they have done, or are they sorry that they got caught?  If we offer our forgiveness to those who are “really” sorry,  how are we to know who and when to forgive?

     We Lutheran Christians believe that sins (the things that we do that bring pain to God, ourselves, and the world) have a way of getting in the way of our relationship with God and with others.  That is why we begin each of our services with corporate confession and forgiveness.  In the presence of God and in each other’s presence we acknowledge to God that we have “sinned against you in thought, word and deed and we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves” ….and we are sorry.  It seems rather rote.  It seems rather sparse of deep thought and conviction.  Are we “really” sorry?

     Fortunately, it seems that God does not mete out divine forgiveness based upon the rather nebulous criteria of being “really” sorry.  In the Bible, we hear Jesus cry from the cross for those who had nailed him there, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”  And later in the book of Romans, “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.”  It is not the “real-ness” of our regret that drives God’s forgiveness, it is the “real-ness” of God’s love that does so.  Because of God’s love for us, God will not let sin stand between God and us, or us and us.  God forgives, really forgives, and it is that forgiveness, not our regret, that tears down the walls that separate us from God and one another.

     When I go to church on Sunday morning, I go quite aware of some of the pain that I have brought to God and those around me….but some of it I am completely oblivious to, and truthfully not burdened with regret about it.  But nonetheless, God forgives it…forgives all of it.  When I hear the words of God’s forgiveness…when I walk past the Baptismal font where God forever claimed me with forgiveness…when I get up from the Lord’s table where I have received the tangible forgiveness of Jesus’ body and blood….I discover that God is transforming me that I may also break down walls with forgiveness, too.

     Are there walls of pain separating you from God, or you from those around you?  Well, God has taken aim on those walls, not because of the “real-ness” of your “sorry-ness”, but on the realness of God’s love for you.  God is waiting to transform you with forgiveness, forgiveness that will transform your world.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 6-9-14

Hello,

     There is a spot in the middle of my back that I cannot reach.  Maybe there was a time when I was more nimble and pliable and it was within my reach, but not now.  This weekend and the weekend before as I was mowing my lawn a deer fly landed right on that spot, and try as I might I could not get my hand to that spot and swat it off, I could not.  So, apparently knowing its safe landing spot, it sat there drooling with Pavlovian delight at the meal that sat before it (my back) until it spotted the most tender piece of my flesh and it sank its teeth into my back as if it was plunging a fork and steak knife into my back sending my arms flailing like a helicopter trying to slap it off my back.  I don’t know if deer flies can laugh, but I believe I heard it do so as it watched me unsuccessfully flapping away.

     The bite, as painful as its pinch may have been, was not the worst of it, though.  Apparently there is some toxin that deer flies pass on in their bites that does not sit well with my autoimmune system that sets off an itch that is unrelenting….remember, an itch that I cannot reach.  To rub salt into the wound, the itch from the first bite was finally beginning to dissipate after a week of torture when the second fly made a meal of my back setting of another week of unreachable, unrelenting itching.

     Deer flies are not the only thing in the world that have a way of finding those spots on us that we cannot reach to swat them off, and then with ruthless delight they  make a meal of us…a meal that leaves a residue of torturous, unreachable itching.  A death.  A divorce.  A disaster.  A disappointment.  An economic downturn…..all deer flies of life-size proportion and pain.

     Although there are some Christians who speak of the Christian faith as some sort of force field of protection against life’s deer flies…the deeper and stronger your faith, the fewer bites you will incur because of divinely favored protection….I am not one of them, and I don’t believe that Jesus was one of them either.  I have seen those of the deepest faith get bit over and over again, and you would have to ignore an awful lot of stuff the happened to Jesus to contend that he lived life unbitten.

     Jesus said, “‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” 

     So, when the deer fly lites and bites hear Jesus’ invite.  He will reach where you cannot reach and swat the deer fly away, and when the itch takes hold he will soothe it with the gentle scratching of love and mercy, and apply a balm of forgiveness and shepherding care (Psalm 23).  That is what happens every Sunday morning when we gather together at church.  So, if you’re bitten…and who isn’t…come to church this Sunday and join the rest of us who itchers in need of a “itch relief”…relief that Jesus delights in giving.

     Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 6-2-14

Hello,

Just got back from a week on the Outer Banks of North Carolina thanks to the invite of my brother in law and his wife.  It was a beautiful week of great weather, relaxing and laughter.  Spent a lot of time in the pool and hot tub, and every morning I took a four-mile walk down the beach….something that you can’t do in Western Pennsylvania.

On my walks I picked up seashells to use in our Baptisms (we give the sea shell that we use to scoop up the water to the Baptized as a remembrance of the great day of God’s grace to them), a day worth remembering for the rest of one’s life.  Also, on my walks I enjoyed the splash of the ocean on my feet, watching the dolphins play in the water, and seeing the delight in the children as they gathered up sand into sand castles.  Another thing in which I took delight was watching the pelicans glide over the water.

If you have ever been to the Outer Banks, then you know that one of the sites is the strings of pelicans that travel north to south, and then south to north.  Sometimes they sail thirty or forty feet above you, never flapping their wings but just gliding effortlessly on the ocean breezes.  Most often, though, they slice through the air inches off of the ocean waters.  Sometimes alone.  Sometimes in groups of two or three.  But most often in a string of eight or ten.  It is an amazing sight to watch.  As they sail just inched off the water they look as if they are connected on a string, making a sine curve over each wave in perfect mathematical synchronization.  The lead pelican charts the path, and the rest of them gracefully and perfectly follow.

You may already know this, but the pelican is a symbol of Christ.  How so?  Well, there is an ancient tale, dating back to the 2^nd century, the truth of which I do not know, that in times of famine and starvation, the mother pelican would puncture her skin and nourish her fragile chicks with her blood. (You can see the connection, especially with the Lord’s Supper where he continually nourishes us at his table with his body and blood.)  She gives up her life….in order to give life to her chicks.

Well, I don’t if that is true, but I do know this: the pelicans who followed that lead pelican just inches above the hungry waves of the ocean did so without deadly harm.  The winds may have quickly sped up, and the waves may have jumped out of the sea, but somehow the lead pelican knew when to rise up, and when to glide down unharmed by the waves.  Those pelicans who followed followed the lead of the first pelican, and because they did, the seas did not swallow them up, either.

Jesus is often spoken of as the good shepherd….leading his sheep to still waters and green pastures.  As I walked along the beach of the ocean this past week, I saw an image of Jesus that strikes more relevant to me, one who has never tended sheep.  As I saw the guidance of the lead pelican, and the safe flight of those who followed it, it occurred to me that maybe instead of seeing in Jesus a practice of pelicans of which I am not sure is true (feeding its young with its blood), I found myself face to face with a pelican image of Jesus that is undeniably true.  Jesus is the lead pelican.  He is the one who knows how to navigate the changing winds.  He is the one who can sense when the waves are about to rise.  He is the one who safely leads each flap of the flight from nesting places to fish filled waters.  He is the one who is worthy of our trust and attention. 

The Bible may call Jesus the Good Shepherd, and surely he is.  But me….well, I think that I will call him the lead pelican, and surely he is.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger