The Bungee Cord 10-31-22

Hello,

If you have ever driven across Northeast Colorado you know that it is a far different experience than traveling from Denver into the Rockies. When I think of Colorado, I think of the beauty of the snowcapped mountains, the bubbling mountain streams, the pine and the aspen trees, and the vistas that seem to take you further than the horizon. That is the experience when one travels west from Denver.

But on my recent trip, my travels took me east of Denver to Charlotte, NC., and so I saw quite a different Colorado. The land was flat and barren, sparsely inhabited. Ranges where cattle tried to roam. No lakes. No rivers. No trees. Just an expanse of hard living ground. There was one thing, however that seemed to be able to have popped up out of this land. Windmills. Driving along I would come across a horizon full of windmills. One could say that Eastern Colorado has produced a bumper crop of windmills.

There was something strange about this crop of windmills, and that was that nary one of them was moving. Like stalagmites they stood there, motionlessly reaching into the clear blue sky. The reason for their stillness: my guess was the stillness of the day. I suspect that all of those windmills were planted there because of the regularity of a strong breeze blowing through that flat land, but on this day, there was no breeze, and with no breeze no spinning of the windmills. As I passed miles and miles of stationary windmills, it occurred to me what energy might have been created if they were spinning. Energy to do all sorts of things: light dark streets, heat cold homes, power appliances, and even make roller coasters fly on their rails. What a shame it was to see these towers of energy from doing what they were meant to do.

Sometimes we talk about life as stormy and full of gale force winds catching our sails, but there are times in life when we find ourselves in stagnant air. Loneliness. Boredom. Meaninglessness. Caught in a rut that seems to have no end. Trudging a trail where each step looks just like the last and you aren’t at all sure if you have gotten anywhere at all.

I know that for some, or many, this has become the experience of the Christian life. They find themselves to be like those motionless windmills of Eastern Colorado.

The Bible, however, tells us that God has taken hold of us and made new creations of us, creations that bring life and hope to the world. God has taken that which has its end in lifeless dust, and recreated it that it might have its end in deathless life. The Good Friday cross did not have its way with Jesus, the empty Easter tomb did. Indeed we are like those windmills of Colorado, made to bring the energy of eternal life into this world. To have our blades caught by the Holy Spirit and vigorously spin. Just like those windmills, neither are we made to stand still.

When those days come, and they do for all of us, just like those Colorado windmills, that the wind is not there. Something is keeping it from reaching our blades, know this, it will come! Maybe fronts of illness or grief are standing in its way. Maybe the world has erected walls of pressure or pleasure that are diverting the wind’s path. But remember that it was the wind (the breath) of God that blew over the emptiness and creation was born. Remember that it was the wind of God that parted the Red Sea and God’s people escaped their doom. Remember it was the wind of the Holy Spirit that blew through a Jerusalem room and lit the first disciples on fire to ignite the world with God’s grace. If you feel like your Christian faith has been caught in the doldrums of life….get ready…the wind of God is coming. God will let nothing separate you from his love in Jesus Christ, and when that love blows through your life you will feel God’s power churning inside you…inside you to energize your life with hope, peace, and joy….inside you to spill out into the world with life giving grace and mercy.

Get ready to spin!

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

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 The Bungee Cord 10-26-22

Hello,

Today I am in Brooklyn, the last stop on my inaugural retirement road trip. Been to Davenport to see my folks and my brother’s family, to Denver to see my oldest son and his wife, to Kansas City to see my cousin and connect with a guy I played high school baseball with, to Charlotte to see my middle son, to Baltimore to rendez-vous with a friend I’ve known since kindergarten, and now I am here visiting my youngest son, his wife, his mother-in-law (who lives with them in a two bedroom NYC apt), and my grandson. It has been a great trip. A great way to kick off the years ahead and celebrate the blessings of my kids from the years behind. I’ve had a lot of windshield time to contemplate and reflect, but I am looking forward to getting back home in 4 days to hug my wife and receive a slobbery kiss from my dog.

As you might guess, the time has given me many things about which to write, so get ready for the weeks to come. But today the thing that is top on my list is the grace that I received from each of my sons as I visited them. They are 32,36, and almost 38. Young men tackling the world with gusto. Each of them blossoming into the unique persons they are, from bud when they all lived under my roof, to amazing flowers adorning the world.

Although we keep in pretty regular contact, the distance that separates us keeps me from spending time with them, “dad” time with them. But that is what I have been doing on my trip. I have done a couple of adventures with them during my several day visit at their homes, but most of the time we have just hung out. Watching games and Ted Lasso, talking over sips of whiskey, and eating. It was a week of the sort of thing I got to do every day when they were growing up. I am thankful for them and the relationship that I have with each of them.

But the thing that I treasured most from my visits with each of them is the genuine love that I felt from them. It is not that I don’t feel that love over telephone calls, zooms, texts and e-mails, but there was something palpably different when I spent time with them….just me. They really do love me. They love me for the good things that managed to seep into their lives from me as their father, and they even love me in spite of the foolish and painful things that pricked their lives from this less than perfect person with whom they were stuck with as their father. As I cruised along the interstates listening to music from when I grew up (James Taylor, John Denver, Elton John, Simon and Garfunkel, and the Doobie Brothers), there was a song that played simultaneously deep in my heart, a love song sung by my sons. It is a song of grace.

That what “visiting with God” is all about on Sunday mornings, experiencing the palpable love that God has for you and me. Sure one can feel God’s love when one prays at home, serves a neighbor, and reads the Bible, but just like I discovered in visiting my kids and spending dad time with them, the feeling of love with those sort of things doesn’t measure up to the feeling of love that comes from hanging out with God…talking to God, dining with God, and solving (?) all the world’s problems together with God. There’s nothing like experiencing the embrace of God who is proud of you for the blessing that you have been to the world, and loves you in spite of the times that you have been far less than a blessing. And when you go back onto the highways of your life, there’s lots of songs that the world will be playing in your ears, but when you have spent some time hanging out with a God who loves you nomattterwhat, there will be a far more beautiful song playing in your heart, a love song from God. A song of grace.

Happy travels as that song fills your life.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

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 The Bungee Cord 10-17-22

Hello,

I am in Colorado visiting one of my sons who told me that when I pack, I need to bring a flannel shirt. For what reason, he would not say, but only that we were going up into the mountains and I needed one.

So, on Saturday, I donned my flannel shirt, hopped in his truck and off we went into the mountains. It was a crisp Denver morning, and the sky was pure blue with a bright shining sun. We didn’t take the interstate, instead he drove the “back way” up on two lane roads that wound their way through towns and woods. It was beautiful. The golden aspen trees nestled along the pines. Soft next to sharp. Boulders and brush.

We eventually arrived at our destination: a “Man of the Cliff” contest. Although it was titled “man” the contest was open to women, too. It was a contest to determine who the true mountain “men” were. So there was axe throwing, log sawing, archery, but the center of the contest was keg throwing. There were three classes for keg throwing: masters (old folks…men and women), women, and men. The object of this contest was to throw an empty keg over a high jump bar that the starting height was 10 feet. The first two classes were to toss a half-keg, and the men were to toss a full size keg. Seventy year old men and women comprised the first throwers, and most of them passed on to the second round. The women’s class was a variety of young women of various height and size. Once again, most of them passed onto the second round. As the rounds progressed, contestants were eliminated until a 79 year old man and a tall, slender young woman beat out the rest.

The men contestants were not so varied in age and stature. Each of them was of the professional wrestler mode in their 20’s or 30’s. Sporting their flannel shirts they strut their way into the arena and lined up ready to throw a full sized keg over the bar, which for them started at 12 feet. One after the other they took their place and heaved the keg, some as if they were tossing a can of beer, clearing the bar by five or six feet. We didn’t stay around to find out who the victor would be as we needed to get down the mountain, but I know that had I entered that contest, I would have been far from being the “Man of the Cliff”.

Now, I don’t wear flannel every day, nor do I go regularly to “Man of the Cliff” contests, but I do find myself daily caught up in a competition judging me; judging my wisdom, judging my kindness, judging my status, judging my weight, judging my work. I may not be throwing beer kegs over a high jump bar, but at the end of every day my shoulders feel the weight of tossing life’s challenges over a bar. Sometimes the bar has been set low enough for me to heave life’s keg over the bar, and sometimes I even clear it with room to spare. But on other days, either the bar is too high, or the keg is too heavy making me a failure and sending me outside the competition ring and I fall far short of being dubbed “Man of the Cliff”.

But though I have won no “Man of the Cliff” trophy for my muscular deeds, I own a trophy for something far better. I am a “Man of the Cross.” God, whose muscles tower over even the mightiest of beings, has tossed me over a Good Friday cross, landed me in a stone sealed grave, and then picked me up out of the ground, victorious forever. I, whose painful deeds are heavier than the Clydesdales pulling a load of beer kegs, have been crucified with Christ (Gal. 2) and raised up to live with him forever. I am a “Man of the Cross”, marked with the cross on the day that the waters of victory splashed upon me in my Baptism. I may never be the “Man of the Cliff”, but I know this, I will always be a “Man of the Cross”. Robed not in flannel for eternity, but robed in grace and mercy…..Forever! And likewise you, too!

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

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 Hello,

Sorry to be a couple of days late on this week’s Bungee Cord. I am on the road visiting my folks and my three boys….Davenport, Denver, Charlotte, and Brooklyn. I left on Monday and will be back home after 2 ½ weeks . Gonna put some miles on my Mini.

As you may recall, I officially retired Sept. 1, and so as I thought about what I was going to do in my retirement, I decided to establish my priorities. First, set my faith life in order. Second, put my relationship with my wife as a top priority, and third, spend some time with my kids and grandson. After these things everything else is far less important.

So, the first Sunday that I was out of the pulpit, I attended worship at the church to which I belong. I sat in the pews. Prayed. Sang songs of praise. Listened to the Word of God in the readings and in the sermon. Put an offering of thanks in the collection plate, and received communion. At that service, one of the guys, who is 83, asked me if I would help him with a project he was doing around the church. He is replacing the rail road ties that border the parking lot, at least 20 of them, with cement curbing that he is mixing and pouring himself. I told him that I have never worked with concrete before, but he said that didn’t matter. So, I found myself last week mixing eighty pound bags of cement and pouring them into forms that we set up. We got six done, and then unfortunately (lol) I had to leave on my road trip for 2 ½ weeks. A rather back aching way to engage myself in the life of my congregation.

A couple of weeks into September, before my cement work, Kate and I took a vacation to the Blue Ridge mountains in Georgia. We spent five days there with some friends, spent a good while on the road together, and remembered how great it is to be married to each other for 41 years.

And now, I am making my way across the country and back to spend time with my folks who are 90 and not doing very well, and spend some days with each of my sons. It is going to be a lot of time on the road by myself, but each stop will give me a chance to spend some individual time with each son who I don’t get to see that much because of the distance we live apart from each other. All three of them have taken on life with gusto, and it is fun to see them turning into wonderful young men. My oldest, who lives in Denver, told me that we are going into the mountains and that I need to wear flannel (I don’t know why. It is supposed to be a surprise. My middle son, who lives in Charlotte, is taking on a new challenge of adventure, and I am excited to hear about it. My youngest, who lives in Brooklyn, and who is the father of my grandson, always broadens my mind (and thins my wallet) when we go out on the town.

That is how I have started my retirement….put first things first. Interestingly enough, that is also how God started his eternal relationship with me. Just a couple of months after I entered this world, God personally visited me, naming me as his own in the waters of Baptism, gowned me in grace, sealing me in divine love and mercy, making his home in my heart, and embracing me in a hug that nothing can sever. When God considered how he was going to spend eternity, God put first things first, and visited me. And since that first visit, God has visited my life day after day….forgiving me for the pain that I have brought him, opening my heart to the pain that I have brought upon others and shaping my heart with his love so that I might bring love and not pain to my neighbors, picking me up when I have fallen flat on my face, giving me eyes to see how I might use the gifts that he has given me to bring a blessing to the world, standing between me and those who would want to hurt me, bringing a light of hope into the darkness that sometimes engulfs me, and laughing with me at death who will find out that it cannot have me.

That is the way that God works. God puts first things first when God thinks about eternity, and thanks be to God that the first thing on God’s list is you and me.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

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