Hello,
I was in
Baltimore this past weekend to celebrate the 60th birthday of a
childhood friend, a birthday that I will be marking next month. Needless to say, Baltimore life is more than
minimally different from my life on top of my rural Pennsylvania hill. So, I really didn’t know what sort of
celebration I was going to be part of when I ventured to the neighborhood bar
where the birthday festivities were going to be held.
Mixed among
storefronts and row houses, there on the corner was the bar. The door of the bar was painted red, but was
plastered with all manner of bumper stickers.
I walked in and found myself in a room the size of the TV lounge from my
college dorm days (I don’t think TV lounges exist in dorms today where TV and
internet hookups are part of every dorm room’s provision….advancement?), with the
bar slicing the room in half. There was
just enough room on the patron side of the bar for stools to be placed at the
bar and against the wall leaving a narrow corridor for movement. I later found out that the interior of the
bar had recently been renovated, accounting for the nicely painted walls,
ceiling and unmarred bar. In their
renovation, either the owners wanted to provide a contrast for the nice/new
look or they ran out of money, because the bar stools were tattered and torn,
only remnants of vinyl covering the bare threads holding the foam padding in
place.
Apparently, this
bar was the neighborhood gathering spot for those who called it their second
home, a place where “everyone knows your name” (for young readers, as in
“Cheers” of TV fame). One of the
attractions of this bar was that at the far end of the bar were two turn tables
where patrons could spin records and share an evening of their music, which is
what my birthday friend did once a month, and which he was doing that night to
celebrate his birthday. As my friend
spun his records the bar’s patronage ebbed and flowed, many people coming up to
him and concurrently wishing him a happy birthday and thanking him for his
“spinning”.
Sitting on my
dilapidated bar stool watching and hearing all this happened, it occurred to me
that in my 34 years of being a pastor, this was the first time that I had
rendez-voused with a friend in a bar.
Being a Lutheran who finds himself aligned with the perspective of
Christianity expounded by Martin Luther, there is nothing that prohibits me
from frequenting a bar …. Martin Luther regularly did! It just so happened that in the course of my
ministry, bar frequenting just never found its way to my daily schedule.
So, as I took in
the sights of this “alien” place, I noticed a picture on the wall behind the
bar between a couple of the mirrors and amid the bottles of liquor on
display. It was a familiar picture, one
that I suspect many of you have seen, the picture of Jesus knocking on the door
depicting the Bible verse, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock…”. Except the artist’s rendition of this picture
had a unique twist to it. The door at
which Jesus was knocking was the red, bumper sticker clad door of the bar. And it suddenly occurred to me that the
painter of this picture was letting it be known that this bar was regularly
visited by Jesus, too. There, in that
neighborhood bar where everyone knows the other’s name, was the one who
intimately knows everyone’s name. He is
there where people bring their lives, sharing the wondrous milestones of life,
like a 60th birthday celebration, and bearing burdens in which they
are drowning in sorrow.
And how is Jesus
there? He is there through people who
either knowingly or not are dispensing his grace….. bar tenders, fellow
patrons, and painters of pictures.
Granted, there are many things that go on in bars….and even
churches….that do not bear the imprint of Jesus, but that painting that sat on
that liquor filled shelf reminded me, that the work of Jesus mercy extends far
beyond the confines of a church. Indeed,
Jesus calls us to join him every Sunday in church, not to be part of a hidden
club, but to empower us to bring the light of divine hope to every corner of
the world.
As Jesus said,
the grace of God is not meant to be a candle only lighting the interior of a
bushel basket, the interior of a church.
Jesus did not die for something so small as that. The grace of God is meant to be a candle on
a lampstand that brings light to every corner of a darkness shrouded world…a
workplace…a school…a home….a team….and even a bar.
Have a great week.
God’s grace and peace, (ggap)
Pastor Jerry Nuernberger
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