Bungee cord 12-28-15

Hello,

“Silent night.  Holy night.   All is calm.  All is bright.  Round yon virgin, mother and child.  Holy infant so tender and mild.  Sleep in heavenly peace.  Sleep in heavenly peace.”

When it comes to the birthing of babies, the process that happens today is really quite a recent phenomenon.  All the prenatal care, the birthing classes, the rushing to the hospital, spinal taps and pain medication, sterile rooms and incubators….only recently born babies, at least in the scope of the centuries of births, have had this level of care and precision.  I have had parishioners for whom it was vastly different, who were born in their homes under the care of the town doctor calling for hot water and towels; not because they opted for a more “natural” birth, but because that was the way every baby came into the world.  What we have come to expect with baby births is really quite a recent expectation.

I don’t think that Mary and Joseph expected what we expect.  I highly doubt that they had many prenatal visits to a doctor gauging the process of the pregnancy.  I highly doubt that they were disappointed to have given birth in a stable.  At least it was shelter.  I rather suspect that when the contractions began, anxieties rose to a fever pitched level wondering if mother or child would survive what was about to take place.  If Jesus was Mary’s firstborn, as the Bible says he was, the birth pangs were probably the most severe she would ever feel as a birthing mother.  And I can only imagine the delight (?) in Mary’s heart when a bunch of shepherds showed up merely hours after her delivery…I know that I have visited many a new mother who greet me with thanks, but I can tell are struggling to put a smile on their faces after the ordeal that they have just been through.

Maybe, because birthing things are so different for us, the sentimentality and ease that we apply to the birth story of Jesus is a recent phenomenon, too.  Maybe we are among the first to miss the degree of worry that Mary and Joseph felt.  Maybe we are among the first to miss the degree of pain and fear that was part of that event.  Maybe we are among the first to miss the inconvenience of that night.  But most importantly,  maybe we are among the first to miss the degree of thankfulness and  amazement that all went well that night.

I find that something to consider when worry, pain, fear, and inconvenience take hold of me – maybe I will find myself more appropriately thankful and amazed by God’s fulfillment of his promise to be born into my life.

Have a great week!

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 12-21-15

Hello,

Merry Christmas.

I went on Google searching for the origins of “Merry Christmas”.  One site says it goes back to the pen of an English admiral and then expanded by Charles Dickens in his story, “A Christmas Carol”.  Although no one seems to  know for sure how it happened from there, but the phrase took off and became a pretty universal greeting between those celebrating the Christmas holiday.

Now, I realize that I am dwarfed by Charles Dickens as a literary trend setter, but today I would like to humbly propose changing the word that we connect to “Christmas” when we pass on our Christmas greetings.

Why the change?  Well….to me, “merry”  just falls a bit short of  the impact that I hope the story of Christmas makes in people’s lives.  “Merry” just seems , to me, to be too shallow and saccharine a word to connect with the events of the Christmas story.  “Merry”, to me, invokes “glee” and “happy”….neither of which a necessarily bad, but  it seems that God’s intent in the incarnation was meant to take hold of our lives with something far more profound.  Besides that, to wish someone “merriment” when they are in the darkest shadows of life does seem to be a bit hollow and empty.

So if not “merry”, what?

How about “wonder-full”….or how we usually spell it, “wonderful”?  When I consider the universal majesty of God, and the microscopic place that I hold in the universe, I, like the writer of the 8^th Psalm, am struck with nothing less than awesome wonder that God would deign to enflesh himself in the life that I live.  When I consider the fickleness of the faith that I hold and the defaming that my life brings to the name of God, I am struck with awesome wonder that God would go to such an extent to embrace me in his love.  When I consider that instead of hanging me over the fires of hell to deal with the toxicity of my life, God came to hang on the cross and make his blood the alkaline for the acid that runs through my life I am struck with nothing less than awesome wonder.  To me, the message of Christmas is far more than merry-making.  It is absolutely wonder-full.

     And so, no matter how you find yourself in life…cruising along, stumbling through it, battling it every day…let me offer my Christmas greeting to you.  May the one who is the light that no darkness can overcome so shine in your life that your eyes see with unobstructed vision the grace, the mercy, and the love of God for you in this Christmas season such that you are struck with nothing less than awesome wonder.

Have a Wonder-full Christmas.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord  12-14-15

Hello,

“Everyone should get something for Christmas,” said a young boy who had come forward for yesterday’s children’s message.    His comment came in light of our congregation’s commitment to generously share with others the blessings with which God has blessed us. 

During the months of November and December we have been gathering items for school bags that will be distributed by Lutheran World Relief all over the world.   Rulers, notebooks, pens, pencils, erasers, and a bunch of other things have been brought in and gathered beneath the blackboard that is standing in the front of the church.  We’ve set a goal of filling 231 bags (the age of our congregation), and it looks like we will not only reach that goal, but crush it.  The Office Max, Staples, Walmart, and Dollar Stores in our area don’t seem to be able to keep their shelves filled to match the generosity of our congregation.

A nine foot Christmas tree once decked out with white angels with the names of families whose Christmas would be present-less, has been transformed into a nine foot Christmas tree adorned with hats and mittens to be sent to the Pine Ridge reservation in South Dakota.  As the angels came down and morphed by the folks of the congregation into mounds of brightly wrapped presents gathered under the tree, the hats and mittens lit upon the branches.

Money and gifts came in and were taken to the residents in a state mental institution that is not too far from us as we participated in its “Reindeer Project.”  Cards for our shut-ins were circulated around the congregation during Communion, which were signed by everyone and will be personally delivered to the shut-ins on Sunday along with a stocking stuffed with care items.

The amazing God’s grace driven generosity  has been enfolding before our eyes in these weeks before Christmas.  First Lutheran is not a church whose pews are filled with the wealthy of our area, instead it is a church that mirrors the moderate and fixed incomed sectors of this town.  And as the generosity of these folk’s has flowed in, not once have I heard anyone say that people are feeling like they have been over asked.

“Everyone should get something for Christmas,” said that generous child.

“Everyone does,” I said back to him, “everyone gets Jesus.”

And as the mounding generosity grows in front of us in our sanctuary, I find myself overwhelmed by what the gift of Jesus does in people’s hearts.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord  12-6-15

Hello,

Last Monday I loaded my lawnmower up into my pickup for its winter tune up.  It is getting older, and as I have discovered with my aging body, without tune ups things just don’t work as well as they did when younger….even with tune ups they don’t, but at least they work.

So after lunch, my lawnmower and I set off for Doug’s.  Doug is one of the employees at the yard tool store.   There are other employees there, but Doug sold us our chain saw, and so we got to know him.  Believe me, Doug knows his chain saws, and with a little chew in his mouth he will tell you everything you don’t need to know about them along with the serial numbers of the various parts that make them up.  I trust Doug, not just with my chain saw, but with my lawnmower, too.

Doug’s place is about a town and a half away from my home, a 15 minute drive up and down the hills.  As I neared it, I noticed that it was missing the normal assorted  variety, age and repair of pickups that normally take their place in the parking lot.  Mmmm, I wondered.  Could it be that I caught Doug at a break in the flurry of business that normally buzzes at his store?

Well, I was wrong.  I had not caught him between business rushes.  Instead, as I neared the glass door that seemed far darker than usual, I noticed a single sheet of white paper taped to the door, and on it with uncommon technological fare was printed from a computer, “Store closed November 30^th.  Hunting season.”

A reminder of where I live; out in the country.

I’ve always known that hunting is big here….big enough to close schools…but I didn’t know that it was big enough to close businesses.  True enough, deer hunting season started last Monday, and had I not discovered it by my trip to Doug’s, I would have soon realized it by the constant sound of guns firing in the distance (and sometimes not so distant).

I remember when I was a kid growing up in suburban Chicago, there was a distant sound that likewise gave clue to businesses being closed: the sound of church bells.  In my town, lots of people followed those church bells to places of worship, and businesses followed suit by closing on Sunday morning, partly because lots of people were in church, but also partly because Sunday, like hunting season around here, was a holy-day (holiday).

Now, Sunday is the biggest business day of the week for lots of stores, and youth activities have inundated both days of the weekend.  Some complain and remember those “good old days” when churches didn’t have so much competition, and people flocked to church.

I, however, don’t find myself complaining about the “competition”, mostly because I don’t see it as “competition”.   I would not see an invite to spend an hour with the President of the United States to be in competition with a trip to the mall or even taking part in a ping pong tournament.  So, neither do I see an invite from God to spend an hour with him to be in competition with any other inviting voice.

So, one might ask, why isn’t everyone in church on Sunday morning?  Well, I have to say that I don’t know….but I have a theory….and this is it: people don’t hear God’s invitation.  I think that lots of people hear a moral judgment saying that you should go to church.  I think that lots of people hear an institution that is trying to survive say they need more people to fill the pews to meet a budget.  I think that lots of people hear a self-righteous distortion saying that if you have a lot of doubts or a confused life church isn’t for you.

What I don’t think a lot of people hear is an invitation from God Almighty, the one who has loved the invitee with the life of Jesus, his Son, saying, “Come to church and lets spend some time together getting to know each other and sharing life.”

Maybe I am wrong, but I know for myself, I find that to be an irresistible invitation, an invitation for which I find myself, like Doug in hunting season, turning off all the lights, locking my doors, and ready to post a sign for anyone who would wander to my home, “Closed, Sunday.  At church.”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 11-30-15

Hello,

Today, I write the Bungee Cord having just spent the last week with my three adult sons in Denver.  Two of them live there.  The other flew in from New York City.  It is a different Turkey Table now a days in many ways, but traces of Thanksgiving tables when we didn’t have to travel to be together still appear.  Sitting around the table with them and spending the week with them is a delight that this parent treasures and takes in with thanks.

But I’m back now; back in the familiar settings of my own home, surrounded by the relative silence of the empty nest.  There’s a difference, though, as I sit upon the couch today from my sitting here a week ago, and the difference is a soul settled sense of peace.  One might conjecture that this peace has taken hold of my heart because of the contrast of the frenetic energy that stirs when I’m back with my kids.  There is an increased stirring that matches the highest level of a kitchen mixer when all three of them lower themselves into the bowl of our life.  But I don’t think that is where the peace that I feel today comes from.

I believe that the peace that has taken hold of my soul has come from having been snatched away for a week by the things that matter deepest in my life.  Far too easily do the semi-important, mildly important, and truthfully really unimportant things have a way of tethering themselves to me, tangling me up in them like yards and yards of kite string.  To have my kids tease me about my aged foolishness, to hear them banter with one another, to see them taking on lives of their own, to be invited to share in their dreams and aspirations….well, it was like scissors slicing me free from life-sapping entanglements.  That is not to say that their lives are perfect and unfettered with difficulties, but even sharing their struggles has a way of freeing me from the lesser important things in life to be engaged in the what is far more important.

I don’t think that I am alone in being snagged by life’s tangling strings.  As a matter of fact, I know that I am not.  Getting tangled up in the omnipresent trip-cords of life is impossible not to do.  Everyone needs to have table time, like I have just had,  to snip them free from all those things that entangle us to death so we might be able to take a deep breath of all those things that are full of life and give us life.

I hope that is what Sunday morning around the Thanksgiving table of the Lord is all about.  (Interestingly enough, one of the words that we use for this weekly meal is “The Eucharist”, whose Greek root word is “Thanksgiving”.)  I hope that when folks gather around this table where the bread of life and the cup of salvation are shared people experience the grace of the Lord snatching them away from all the things that are suffocatingly entangling them and freeing them to be engaged in life, life abundant in hope, joy and peace.

I know that that what happens to me.  Although it may seem to be only piece of bread and a sip of wine, my ears are captured by the promise that it is more, God’s promise that his presence is tangibly entangled therein. And in a profound way that words and reason cannot capture, I can feel the snipping of all that the world had tethered me in entanglement, and my lungs freed to take in a soul cleansing breath that enlivens when I dine at the Lord’s table.

The peace that I wallow in today from my week with my kids will soon fall prey to the world’s entanglements, and so I look forward to the table time that we will have again.  Likewise, the peace that soothes me from dining at the Lord’s table is always soon snagged by the trip-cords of life, and so I look forward to the Lord’s table time that I will also have again.

I hope that your Thanksgiving table time brought the refreshment that mine did, and know this: there is a standing invitation at the Lord’s Thanksgiving (Eucharist) table every Sunday in which the Lord seeks to exponentially greater refresh your life with his divine mercy and grace.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

The Bungee Cord 11-24-15

Hello,

The Greensburg Holliday Parade rolled past our church on Saturday.  As always, it was led by the local color guard slicing the air with the red, white and blue hoisted high.  Behind them came the Greensburg Volunteer Fire Department stepping out in their cream colored parade uniforms.  Intermingled there after were several bands, old cars, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, fire engines, local business floats, alpacas, and politicians.  A mandatory entrance fee for parade participants must have been several bags of candy which were to be thrown to the children who lined the route as if they were hunting dogs at point.  At the end of the 2 ½ hour parade , Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus rode into town in a hay wagon pulled by draft horses.

It was a beautiful day for the parade: sunny and in the 50’s.  The weather on the last several years was not as welcoming, thus the reason for the thin crowd for those parades..  This year’s crowd , however, filled the sidewalks and edged into the streets.

As the crowd began to gather, I became worried. 

As a sign of the Grace of God, we have, the past few years, given out hot dogs and hot chocolate during parade time: free.  No cost to any one, after all, that is what  the Grace of God is all about: no cost to anyone  (except Jesus, that is).  My worries, you see, came about as I saw the crowd balloon and our supply of hot dogs remain stable.  Three hundred and fifty hot dogs was what we bought, and that was all that we had.  The flyers that we passed out to the parade goers were drawing in a steady stream of hot dog hunters. 

I had stationed myself in front of the church, clerically clad for recognition, greeting people as they walked by and welcoming them to their free hot dogs.  As the parade went on, I was glad to see that people were exiting the church with sour kraut laden hot dogs.  As the parade neared its second hour, I, who had not eaten but a piece of toast for breakfast felt the urge for a hot dog……too late.  They had just run out.  I suppose we could have given more away, but 350 was just about the right number.

Even though I didn’t get my hot dog, I did get something.  I found out that many people would not take our hot dogs for free.  They “demanded” we take their money.  So, a plate was put out with no instructions, and when the parade was over the count was $120.00…..which I will suggest will go to our effort to send 231 (that’s how old our church is) school bags to needy students around the world.

As I consider the $120.00 that was given for our free hot dogs, it seems to me that it might be thought of in a couple of ways.  One way to look at that $120.00 is to say that bears out the fact that grace is rather hard to receive.  Even as we stand before God, there’s a tendency for us to think we have to do something to receive God’s grace, and that get’s us in trouble because then we begin to wonder if we have done enough for the amazing grace that we receive.  But on the other hand, maybe that $120.00 is a sign of thanks, a response to grace.  That is what my offering is every Sunday morning, an offering of thanks that I give with no strings attached on how it is to be used.  So, if those hot dog recipients were giving their money in thanks, and not in payment …… well then, that would have been a wonderful thing.

I do know that many of those who got their free hot dogs were very thankful, because as they passed me with their hot dogs in their hands many said, “This was awful  nice of you.”

“Glad we could do it,” I would say back.

And to those who said nothing to me as they carried their hotdogs parade-side, I said grace-fully, “Have a great day!”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord  11-16-15

Hello,

There are events in the world so vile and incomprehensible that they cast a pall over every nation and land.  Such was the case with the events of Friday night in Paris.

My Friday night plan was to sit down, turn off my brain, turn on my TV, and watch some football.  That did not happen.  Instead of watching what is meant to be a diversion from the rigors of life, sports, I found myself watching life at its worst.  The feelings that rolled through my soul were like bowling balls knocking down pin after pin of hope and peace and joy.

When things like this happen, they who know about international politics are called upon to bring some analysis of such horrific chaos.  So, I will leave such discussion to them.  Even though there are countless theologians far wiser and deeper in thought than I, the darkness of these things has cast a shadow over my pen, a shadow that I humbly hope God will use the words of this minor league theologian to dissipate at least a bit.

Those who perpetrated the horror of last Friday night did so for a flurry of reasons, but it seems to me that a primary motivation is to create a tsunami of fear.  They intend to cause such a tidal wave of fear that people will run away from life, rather than live in the blessing of each day of life.  They hope that fear will so chill people’s hearts that earthquakes of hatred will rumble under every nation.  They hope that fear will so loom over people that a crest of suspicion will crash down upon neighborhoods and towns.  They hope that fear will rise to the level that compassion for those who suffer will be drowned.  They act in terrorizing ways, it seems to me, with the hopes that we will be inundated with fear.

This, of course, is nothing new.  The same was the case in the days when Jesus walked this earth.  The act of crucifixion was not just a means that the Romans used to carry out their brand of punishment; it was far more a weapon used by the Romans to keep the people bathed in fear.  Crucifixions, as you might recall, were not done behind high walls and in prison courtyards.  They were done out in the open.  In the middle of the day.  The Romans wanted to make sure that everyone knew they were going on, and that everyone could see what was going on.  They were meant to be a government-sanctioned act of terror.

The cross, which oddly for some has become merely a pretty piece of jewelry for many, is not so for me.  It is not so because I know the story of God’s encounter with the cross, the story of the one who was God incarnate that hung on that Golgotha cross and died….and the continuation of that story that took place three days later when that same one, Jesus, walked out of that Easter tomb.  When Jesus walked out of that tomb, everything that that Good Friday cross intended to bring down upon the world…..fear, guilt, terror, hatred, and even death….was crushed under his feet.  For me, the cross is the ultimate reminder, not of the terrifying powers of the world, but of the unbeatable power of God.

I, when I was baptized, was marked “with the cross of Christ forever”, and as a Christian I gather with all those who are so marked under the cross every Sunday.  And when I mark myself with the sign of the cross, I hear the words of Romans 8 ringing with unquestionable clarity, “There is nothing in ………. life or in death that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

So, as one who lives under the cross, I need not, and I will not live in fear.  I will live with appropriate care, but I will not succumb to fear.  I will not hole myself away from life.  I will not regard every person who does not look like me with suspicion.  I will not brush large groups of people with hatred.  And I will not stop joining my brothers and sisters every week around the table of the Lord.

The cross is the supreme evidence to me that the grace and love of God is far more powerful than the evil that some are determined to ignite.  So, marked with the cross of Christ and living under it, I hope to show that power to the world so that the world’s gaze might be captured by it rather than by those who act with mistaken bravado.

“Fear not,” says the Lord, “I am with you always!”

Have a great week,

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 11-10-15

Hello,

The chickens are no more.

Those of you who have been Bungee Cord readers for the last couple of years know that my wife ventured us into chicken farmers, on a small scale.  Over the course of our chickening, we had eight chickens (6 at one time at our peak), multiple eggs every day, and apparently prey for the natural wildlife around our house and for the imported wildlife (i.e.Duncan, our dog who brought two of the chickens to their demise).

Well, as it is with chickens, after a couple of years, our chickens’ egg production slowed down to a trickle at best.  Added to that the difficulty of trying to keep them alive and egg producing during the winter, the decision about diminishing returns came to the fore.  The chickens lost.

So, yesterday, my wife and my piano-playing, piano tuning son from NYC who was visiting us put on their executioner garb and prepared to transform our chickens from egg-layers to stew meat.  Neither had previously played such a role in the life of a chicken;  my wife’s chicken execution instruction coming from several forays into the internet, and my son’s coming from his musical instruction at NYU.  The first chicken that met its demise was our most un-favorite, and it paid a bit of a price for its role as it’s executioners’ first.  The second and third chicken found their fate to be a bit more precise in its execution.

     In the end, our three remaining chickens will no longer be wobbling full of feathers around our yard, but will one day find themselves bathing featherless in a pot of boiling water, softening them up for a good bowl of chicken stew.

     Unfortunately, in the world in which we live, chickens are not the only creatures that find themselves facing the judgment of worthlessness when they are no longer able to do what they once were.  People find themselves likewise judged, too.  Consider what happens to those have done something that renders them less trustworthy.  Consider what happens to those who have done something that renders them less loveable.  Consider what happens to those who have done something that renders them less desirable to be around.

     The fate of such humans may not be as graphic as that of our chickens, but it is no less severe.  Such people are often shunned, often considered toss-aways, and regularly ignored.

     Interestingly enough, the one who Christians follow was one who was treated in such a way: shunned, tossed away, ignored and ultimately executed.  But that treatment was not the last act of his story.  The last act belonged to God who took he who was shunned and embraced him, who took he who was tossed away opened up the gates of eternal life to him, who took he who was ignored and gave him the name at which every knee will bow, and who took the one who was executed and in raising him destroyed death forever.

     So, if you ever hear a voice coming from inside of you or from the world around you declaring you worthless by virtue of something that you have done, know this: that voice is not Jesus’ voice.  Jesus took that voice to the cross and walked all over it on Easter Sunday morning.  If however you hear a voice that says, ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. ²⁹Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’  (Matthew 11), that is Jesus’ voice…..listen to it!

     Yoke, that is….not yolk….hahahaha.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 11-2-15

Hello,

     I don’t know if last week’s news of the run away blimp reached your news station, but since it happened over us in Pennsylvania, it was the news de jour one day last week. 

     For reasons still unknown a 250 foot long blimp that was stationed in northern Maryland broke away from its moorings.  Turns out that this particular blimp is a very sophisticated military surveillance device whose job was to keep its eye out for threats to Washington D.C.  Last week it was doing its job at 6000 feet when it tether broke, and off it went on a run away journey.  Since it is an unmanned blimp with no motors or steering there was no controlling its path or destination.

     When its tether severed, air force jets were immediately launched to track it down.  There was some concern that it might wander over a populated area and descend upon it, but the bigger concern was that this blimp had “sensitive instruments and data” that the military didn’t want to get into the hands of those who shouldn’t have it.  Not only did this blimp cost nearly $200,000,000.00 (yes….it was no simple hot air balloon), but because of its payload it was extreme value.  And yet, somehow the tether that held this blimp to the earth somehow broke.

     Sometimes I find myself joining the Psalmist as I look at the star sprinkled sky, “What are mortals that you should be mindful of them?”  In the vast domain of the universe, it really is quite unreasonable that God almighty would even remotely  be concerned about the likes of me.  If I, like that multimillion dollar blimp, were to set off on a run away journey from God, would God even notice?

    And yet what seems logical and reasonable to me as I scope the universe, is not the way that God thinks about me and values me.  God, for reasons that are beyond my understanding, thinks of me so dearly that God has tethered me to his very self by taking hold of me with divine power and might.  Jesus, God incarnate, staked himself in my life in the waters of Baptism, and when that happened, God gave me God’s name, a name that is worth far more than sensitive instruments and data held in a surveillance blimp, for to give me his name, it cost the life of his Son.

     And even more than that, when God tethered me to himself, he said this, “I will never let you go.”  Romans 8 says it this way, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  Wow!      

     Who knows why the tether of that multi-million dollar blimp broke…a fierce wind?  a weakening from daily stress? an enemy’s cutter? a flaw in its make-up?…but this I know, the tether with which God holds me will not likewise fail.  No matter what I do….no matter what happens to me….no matter how rebellious the storm that I create or is created around me….God has taken hold of me with the same power with which he created the universe and holds it together. 

     So, as I look at the vastness of that star sprinkled sky and hear that God has taken hold of my life with an unyielding grip….well, I guess that it must be true …so true that I can live each day in trust of that truth….the truth that nothing will ever be able to separate me from him….likewise the same for you!

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 10-26-15

Hello,

Everyone who begins their ministry after their seminary education discovers that there are many things that they don’t teach you in seminary that you wish they would have.  This week, I discovered one of those things: migratory birds.

I was listening to National Public Radio on my way home from work and they were interviewing an ornithologist, a studier of birds.  As I wound my way home through the canopy of fall beauty, I was learning about bird sounds, what those sounds mean, nesting habits, territorialism, and migration.  I was listening with moderate interest to the discussion, but when they started talking about migration, my ears perked up. 

     Migratory birds, said the ornithologist, don’t know where they are going.  The flocks are not led by those who have been where they are going.  For many species of birds, the entire flock is venturing off to someplace they have never been to before, have no idea of how to get there, and are completely unaware of what it will be like when they arrive.  Although it may seem obvious, this came as quite a surprise to me.

I wish they would have taught us this in seminary.

On several occasions Jesus turns his listeners attention to the birds around them.  Maybe he was an amateur ornithologist.  “Look at the birds,” Jesus said, “and see how God takes care of them.”  God feeds them.  God gives them safe places to nest.  Not even one sparrow falls to the ground outside of God’s attention.  “If God so cares for the birds,” Jesus says, “You can rest assured that God will take care of you.”

As comforting as all of the things that Jesus tells us to see in God’s care for the birds, I find that what I learned from my radio ornithologist is even a greater sign of God’s grace.  Scientists have tried to figure out how migratory birds know how to go somewhere they have never been before.  Are their magnetic chips in their brains that are preprogrammed?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  It still remains one of those mysteries that inquiring minds want to know.

From a theological perspective (that is what we learned well in seminary: theology), this mystery of nature speaks to me.  “If God so takes care of the birds of the air, to lead them where they have never been, on a path they have never flown, to a place where they will find good repose, won’t God so likewise do for you,” Jesus might say to you and me.

In truth, every day is a wing flap on an unknown flight for you and me.  Often times I find myself ill at ease to soar into it.  I fool myself into thinking that I have some idea of where I am going, but in truth I do not.  I try to tell myself that I have some idea of what I will meet in each day ahead, but in truth I do not.  I try to comfort myself by thinking that I have control over the flight that I take, but in truth I do not.  In truth, I am like a migratory bird, flapping into the future on a virgin journey.

I suspect that someday science will tell us how God has provided for birds to fly confidently and faithfully as they migrate.  But for me, I already know what gives me the confidence and the faith to wing my way into the future: Jesus’ beckoning call.  That is what the event of which we call the ascension of Jesus is all about.  The Bible tells us that after Jesus rose from the dead, he gathered his disciples and ascended into heaven.

     It is a rather difficult image for us modern thinkers to comprehend this ascension, and so some have asked, “Where did he go?”  I find Martin Luther’s answer very insightful and helpful, “Jesus went into the future.”  That is to say that when Jesus ascended into heaven, he left behind the constraints of time and space, constraints that bind us and hold us.  So although the future may be beyond our immediate experience, for Jesus, he is already there, and that is what I mean when I say that it is Jesus’ beckoning call that gives me the faith and the courage to take flight into it.  In truth, I don’t know anything about the future, except this one thing: Jesus is there.  And as the one who has so loved me in the past and in the present, I find myself drawn, almost magnetically, to his flock leading call, “Follow me.”

Thank you, Mr. Ornithologist, for now I have seen even a greater vision of God’s steadfast care of me when I look to the birds of the air.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

The Bungee Cord  10-19-15

Hello,

Signs of autumn: monochromatic green hillsides become patchwork quilts of brilliant color; warm short-sleeved evenings on the deck require a sweatshirt to stay warm; the morning alarm that had gone off with the brightness of the sun now rings in the pitch black of night…….and, Friday night high school football.

The church where I am the pastor pulls in people from about 5 or 6 school districts most of whom are having struggling seasons. This morning I was talking to one of the high school students who is a cheerleader at one such floundering football school. “How’d the game go Friday night?”, I asked her as she was leaving worship.

“We got crushed!”, she said, and her mother joined in the conversation adding that they hadn’t yet won a game, and it the next several gives did not look very promising.

“Well, then,” I said, “sounds like they need you to cheer even louder for them to keep their spirits up!” She smiled.

When it comes to football teams….and life in general….its no fun to be a cellar dweller. (I should know…I root for the University of Illinois!) Stumble once or twice and people will hang around you, but fall flat on your face over and over again…well, people have a way of giving up on you, avoiding you, and naming you “Loser”. And pretty soon, it is easy to start believing what they say. And when that happens, the losing isn’t the worst of it, the sting of being a failure burns far more severe. Losing football players lose the desire to play and wonder why they are suiting up for another game – after all they are losers. Recipients of report cards loaded with “F’s” can become so disheartened that they wonder why they even go to class at all – after all they are losers. People whose relationships fall apart begin to believe that they are unlovable – after all they are losers. The mantra of “Loser” is an everplaying scratched record, and it is played at a mind numbing decibel.

Fact of the matter is, that football teams that are winning don’t really need cheer leaders….the crowd has a way of cheering un-led. Likewise, people that are “winners” don’t really need cheerleaders to get people to cheer them on, they, too seem to be spontaneously acclaimed. The ones who really need the cheerleaders are the ones who keep on losing. They need to hear voices of encouragement that eat away at the humiliation they feel. They need to hear the voices of hope that make their way through the darkness of their despair and fear. They need to hear the voices of forgiveness and mercy that blanket them from the chilling winds of guilt. It might be fun to be a cheerleader when your team is winning, but it is far more important to be a cheerleader when you or your team is not.

I am a cheerleader. Sunday after Sunday I, as a pastor, lead cheers: “A mighty fortress is our God”, “This is the feast of victory for our God”, “Our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness”, “Chief of sinners though I be, Jesus shed his blood for me”, “Love divine all loves excelling”, “Jesus Christ is risen today! Alleluia!” It is fun to lead these cheers when things are going well and there is much to celebrate….actually, I don’t feel like I need to lead at all, the cheering of joy and thanks seems to spontaneously erupt from the crowd.

But when times are tough…when the voices outside are deafening with their pronouncement of loser…when grief is suffocating….when fear is debilitating…when shame is crushing…that is when, although it may be hard, I am there to lead the cheer, the cheer that blasted from the cross and the grave with victorious power. I lead that cheer because that cheer is the very thing that Jesus died and rose for. That cross-born cheer pulses with divine strength that crushes darkness and ignites light, that silences doom and magnifies hope, and disintegrates death and explodes with life.

So, if you find yourself on the winning side of things on any given Sunday morning, come to church where your cheers will find their power in thankfulness to God. And if you find yourself on the losing side of things on any given Sunday morning, come to church where God himself will cheer you on, and so will I….and of this I am certain, when you leave church you will be empowered to once again step onto the field with new courage and new hope!

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord  10-12-15

Hello,

     Every Friday I treat myself to fine dining at lunch.  I go to the Food Court at the local mall….well, not exactly five star.  I call my Friday ventures “Food Court Fridays”.  Truthfully, I don’t go there for the food (duh), but I go there to make myself available to folks to visit with them.  Sometimes a handful of people show up, and sometimes no one shows up.  But I am there every Friday, usually eating Chinese fare, looking forward to sharing some time with the folk.

     This past Friday as I was awaiting prospective diners, my ears caught the sound of a strange conversation going on at the table behind me.  Now lest you think that I was eavesdropping, let me quickly state that the conversation was a bit on the loud side….at least by one of the participants.  Not only was it a bit loud, it was a bit difficult to understand, at least for me.  The two other people at the table seemed to be holding down an ongoing conversation with the person whose voice caught my ears, and although I wasn’t able to detect the gist of their conversation, their words that made it through the filter of the mall noise were recognizable to my non-eavesdropping ears.   The longer I sat there and the more my ears took in the loud voice that first caught them, it became clear to me that the voice that I heard had a speech impediment that appeared to be the result of a hearing deficiency. 

     Now…once again….not that I was trying to eavesdrop, no matter how hard I strained my ears, I, unlike the two women at the table with the woman I first heard, could not understand what she was saying.  It soon occurred to me as to why this was: they had obviously heard her speech quite a bit before enabling their understanding of it, and I was not at their table to hear them well.

     Although I hadn’t thought about it in this way before, my Food Court Friday “eavesdropping” (no I wasn’t) pointed out to me why it benefits me to go to church every Sunday: to regularly hear God’s speech, and to be at God’s table so that I might hear God well.  Truth is, God’s speech does seem to have a bit of an impediment (maybe the impediment is actually our ears?).  God’s words of forgiveness and mercy don’t have the same ring as the world’s words of judgment and vengeance.  God’s words of unconditional love don’t have the same tonality as the world’s fickle and “what have you done for me lately” love.  And God’s declaration that our worth and value has its foundation in what God has done, that he has sent his Son to stake his claim on us, and it is not based upon the great things or the terrible things that we have done has a divine drawl that is often misunderstood.  I need to hear God’s speech quite a bit so I can understand it better.

     It is true that God is not silent outside the walls of the church, but there’s an awful lot of “mall” noise out there, and besides that, the Lord’s table is in the church.  Sunday after Sunday the Lord invites me to dine with him and to converse directly with me saying, “this is my body, given for you… this is my blood, shed for you”.  I know that his words may seem to be impediment-like when eavesdropped upon outside of his table, but I also know this; when they are spoken to me at his table they ring with a clarity that changes my life, that gives me hope, and empowers me to live in the world with divine mercy.

     If you’re in the Westmoreland Mall area of Greensburg on Fridays from noon ‘til one, let me invite you to come to “Food Court Friday” and visit with me – it will be fun to get to know each other better spending meal time around a table.   And no matter where you are on Sunday morning, let me extend the Lord’s invitation to “Food Court Sunday” and visit with him.  I am certain it will be more than fun.  It will be a joy for God….and for you….to spend some meal time together.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord   10-5-15

Hello,

      I just got back from attending my 40^th high school reunion (Wow! I am getting old!).  I grew up in suburban Chicago with a graduating class of around 600 kids, almost all of whom I haven’t seen since we tossed our mortarboards in the air in 1975.

     I wasn’t sure what the reunion would bring.  Would I be recognized and remembered?  Would I recognize and remember others?  Would my reception be warm or cold?  Would the memories that came back bring a smile to my face or pain to my heart?

     Turns out that to say it was wonderful is an understatement.  People that I knew well in high school welcomed me with homecoming warmth, and people whom I hardly knew at all 40 years ago were equally open armed.  For some, they were easily recognizable, as they didn’t look very different from the graduation picture that we each wore on our nametags.  Other’s of us had “transformed” a bit and it was a bit harder to decipher our identity, but once deciphered the universal reply was, “Oh, yeah!”

     I found myself remembering class times and team times with many of the folks, as many likewise remembered me.  Of the things for which I was remembered was my time on the baseball mound as a pitcher. Two of the guys who were our catchers were at the reunion as well as a couple of others who ran around the diamond with me all those years ago.  My pitching forte was not a blazing fastball, but a down-breaking curve ball that many found difficult to hit. 

     Curve balls are hard to hit, not just on a baseball field, but also in life.  They knock you off balance and they make your brain go through trigonometric calculations in order to hit them.  Although not many of the reunion conversations revolved around the curve balls that have been thrown at us over the years, if others’ lives have been like mine (and I am certain that they have), we have all seen our fair share of them….hitting some and whiffing at others.

     In 1975 the Lutheran Church put together a new hymnal, “The Green One”, and in it is a prayer that I have often said when I have stepped up to the plate of life.

“Lord God you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.  Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that you hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.”

     As I think about the collections of lives and stories at our reunion – ventures of which we could not see the ending, on paths we had never trod, and into perils which we would not imagine – I find myself thankful for the grace of God that has taken a hold of me (and I believe all my classmates) lo these 40 years, giving courage, strength, and hope to persevere…stepping up to the plate day after day to attack what has been thrown our way….fastball, curve, or change up….sometimes getting a hit….sometimes striking out…but  never sent  in defeat to the bench forever!

     A couple of years ago, the Lutheran church put together another new hymnal, “The Cranberry One”, and when I first opened it, I went searching for my at bat prayer.  It’s there!  It is there for me to pray for all the years ahead of me (I doubt it to be 40)…actually for all of us to pray for the years ahead of all of us (for some it will be 40 and more).

     I discovered that I am remembered after 40 years for throwing a pretty unhittable curveball in high school, but my curve ball isn’t anything compared to some of the curve balls that life has thrown and will throw.  So today and everyday ahead of me, as I pick up my bat and step to the plate, I know that I will do so with a prayer rolling through my soul – a prayer that I have often prayed, and a prayer that I have seen answered over and over again – a prayer that I invite you to pray when you take your bat in hand….

“Lord God, you have called your servants…..”

Have a great week!  Play ball!

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 9-28-15

Hello,

     As a Lutheran pastor, I wear a clergy shirt when I am involved in leading worship to give a visual sign of my role as pastor amongst those who have called me to serve them.  If you’re not familiar with a “clergy shirt”, it is one of those black shirts with a white tab in the front collar.  Interestingly enough, the practice of wearing clergy shirts among Lutherans is not uniform.  In the mid-west, where I spent a good deal of my ministry, some did not wear them at all.  And here, in Western Pennsylvania, the majority of Lutheran pastors wear their clergy shirts every day, all the time (they may even sleep in them?).

     This past Friday I had a wedding in the afternoon, so rather than dirtying two shirts for the day, I put my clergy shirt on in the morning and wore it throughout my work day.  I wore it to the hospital.  I wore it to the food court at the mall where I make myself available every Friday noon. 

     I discovered that things change when I wear my clergy shirt in public.  People notice me.

     “Hello, Father,” was said to me as I walked through parking lots and doors.  “What do you think about that Pope?” I was asked by a woman sitting in the hospital lobby.  “Well, don’t say “hi”,” said a sharp tongued woman who was apparently offended by my lack of response to a soft spoken “hello, Father” that I didn’t hear.

     I am not used to this kind of attention.  I suppose that it is good in so far as the wearing of my collar lets people know that if they want to talk to a Christian leader, I am one.  But in truth, I find the spotlight to be a bit disconcerting.  I hope that people are not being kind and polite to me because they think that my clergy shirt is an indication of an elevated holiness in me, because I know that I am no more holy than the people whom I serve.  I hope that people don’t look upon me as one who deserves respect and reverence because I, who wear a clergy collar, am somehow closer to God, because I do not believe that I am.  I hope that people do not treat me with a generosity they withhold from others because  I, who wear a clergy collar, am someone through whom they can vicariously live out their faith, because faith cannot be lived out vicariously.

     Business casual would best describe my every day work attire…no jeans though!  Walking down the street, around the mall, in the hospital I find myself blending in, and not standing out.  Truthfully, I like it that way, because that is the way I see myself as a pastor….someone who is no different from anyone else.  Sure, I have been trained in things Biblical and church, but when it comes down to it, like we used to say of the baseball teams that I faced in high school, “I put my pants on the same way they do.  One leg at a time.”

     I am humbled and honored by the invitation of people to be part of the deepest moments of their lives, and I hope that I live up to the confidence and trust that they put in me.  The mere fact that you have taken the time to read this Bungee Cord is an honor, and I hope that through my words God has spoken to you in a way that lives up to that honor.

     I tend to stray away from the title “Reverend”, because I don’t think that there is anything more to revere about me than anyone else.  I much prefer the title, “Pastor”, which means shepherd, because that is what I hope I am…someone who is the physical hands and feet of the Good Shepherd, who has loved his sheep with the laying down of his life, who knows each of them by name and calls them unto himself, and who will leave 99 flocked sheep to go find the one who has wandered.

     So, if you find me wearing a clergy shirt you can assume that it is because I am leading some sort of worship service.  Besides, according to my wife, I don’t need to wear a clergy shirt to stand out.  Often she will say to me as I am walking out the door dressed as I normally do, “Are you really going to wear that shirt with those pants?”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger