Advent Three

I just turned 81.

(Yes! I know! I don’t look a day over 80!)

And on Jan 21, I will celebrate my 42nd year as pastor of St. Matthew.

So—how did that happen?!?

Well, in 1982, I was a 29-yr-old theology student beginning a second career after teaching.

I needed a church to serve while in seminary. And there was this small, dying church nobody wanted to be sent to.

St. Matthew.

A church off the main drag. No prospects.

I was sent there to close it down—pronounce the “last rites,” so to speak.

But it didn’t die. It began to grow.

By 1989 we were out of room. We had a building program to transform the sanctuary into the glory it is now.

Since I presided over an unlikely recovery, the bishop let me stay. Many bishops let me stay. Having this continuity is what has preserved a church that seemed to have no future.

That—and this. This thing you are reading.

In 1987, we began these “little articles” in papers.

Some 90% of our members come through Friday’s Word.

And everyone knows what they are getting before they get here.

We attract loving and accepting people.

And by the way—I ain’t done yet. I am as excited about ministry as the day I first stepped into a pulpit.

And Christmas at St. Matthew will be glorious.

The Christmas Show is this Saturday night—the 16th –at 6:00. It’s kind of like an old Bing Crosby TV special.

Great music.

Christmas supper after.

And Santa for the kids.

And Sunday morning?

I’m still preaching.

Advent Two

John Cleese (yes, the British comedian of Faulty Towers fame) has a great interest in near-death experiences.

He says he finds that people who dismiss them have not read the literature.

This goes for religious experiences in general.

A grieving father shared this with me:

Remember that fire we had over here last year. My little nine-year-old girl died in that blaze.

She was all I had.

I couldn’t eat or sleep. Couldn’t work. I grieved till I thought I would die.

One day I wandered back into the rubble of the place we had lived. I sat down in the midst of the rubble. The sorrow was heavy on me.

But then I felt a presence—a power—like a million volts of electricity. I felt it could blow up the world, but it was full of love.

The love surrounded me, and I heard a voice.

The voice from the power said, ‘Your little girl is safe and well. She is with me.’ And the power began to let me go. My heart was changed. I still hurt, but I do not hurt like I used to.

I know a thousand stories like that. They point to a personal God who cares about our pain.

But how many such stories do you know?

I was guest preacher in a church some years ago. I talked about religious experiences.

A woman said to me as she was leaving, “Pastor, I’ve been in church all my life. This is the first time I’ve ever heard that God does anything.”

A lot of people believe in a God who doesn’t do anything.

If that’s your God, you’ve been running from reality. It’s time to slow down and take notice.

+++

Christmas Show, Sat. Dec. 16, 6:00 p.m.