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Lent 5
Pastor Kevin R. Maly
April 1, 2001
John 12:1-8

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Hearers of John's Gospel have just heard the story of
Lazarus, whom Jesus loved, and who had died,
how Jesus groaned in his spirit and was troubled
when he saw how saddened Lazarus’s sister Mary was at her brother's death,
how Jesus himself wept when he was led to Lazarus’s tomb.

We have heard how Lazarus had been dead for already four days
and, as the King James Version says, how Lazarus stinketh.
And we have heard Jesus cry out unto him who stinketh, "Lazarus, come forth."
And Lazarus was raised.

And Jesus' enemies from that day forth
took counsel together for to put him to death.

It is now six days before the final act.
And we are gathered at a surreal, a super-real supper.

Lazarus, beloved of Jesus...
bearing the smell of one resurrection and yet another to come.
Martha, ever active, serves the meal.

And Mary, a prophet unaware,
takes her sweet and most costly perfumed oil,
and anoints—not Jesus' head as would be customary upon receiving such a guest –
but now his feet, as would be customary upon the burial of the dead.
And then in an act of brazen passion she wipes his feet with her hair.

And Judas notes that this oil bears a cost equivalent to a year's wages
and he protests, 300 pieces of silver!
though Judas will do what he does for merely 30.

Here is a feast, a foretaste of the many feasts to come,
of the feast that one day shall never again have an end.
All of us who stinketh are there, still beloved of Jesus,
all of us buried and raised already in Holy Baptism
but not yet as we shall be,
bearing yet only a hint of the resurrection that shall be.

The part of us that with Martha already
trusts in what shall be
attends there with quiet duty.
And part of us with sorrowful and weeping Mary
has come to give costly thanks,
bearing Eucharist, thanksgiving,
the offering and oblation of our labor and love,
showing forth the Lord's death until he comes.
And, too, we come with our pious speech about caring for the poor
that masks the treachery of our far too human hearts.

So now as the days of this Lenten tide tumble head-long
to their conclusion and ours,
wake and watch, listen and attend.

Through a wind in time, a Holy sort of Spirit,
this feast, this surreal supper, this super-real supper
does and will become,
over and again, present in this place among us and upon this altar.
Beyond all linear time
this supper became, becomes, and will become and be present
in every place and in every time
where two or more are gathered
in remembrance of Him.

Through a wind in time, a Holy sort of Spirit,
this feast
does becomes us,
shall become us,
has become us...
And again we do walk and shall walk
the way of the cross
and we shall all daily die.

But we do all eat of this surreal supper
and have been and will
again be given to know
that at the last trumpet,
in a twinkling of an eye,
we shall all be changed, and we shall become like him...
we are already becoming like him...
we have already become like him.

So be sober, be watchful,
your adversary the devil prowls around
like a roaring and ravening lion, seeking whom to devour.
Resist the evil one,
be firm in your faith in these last and final days
and prepare for the Feast
and for a good Friday (moved the and from the line above)
and for all that shall most surely follow.

Stake your whole life on it.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

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Catching fish—that is the goal of every fisherman or fisherwoman, as the case may be. Maybe no more seriously undertaken than by those who perch themselves on a patch of ice to fish through a little hole in the winter. Think about it. The winter.

Perhaps you heard the satirically funny National Public Radio report on ice fishing this week. I still have the image of the group of Russians whose patch of ice began to float out to sea. Only in so doing, it had moved them to a spot where the fish were actually biting—so much so that when the rescue boats arrived they said, "Oh, no. Thank you very much, but we'll just stay right here." Or the fella who pulled up his line to find a license plate attached and then realized it looked pretty familiar and turning around realized that there was a gaping hole in the ice where his truck had formerly been parked. I will admit-ice fishing is not a sport to which I feel a calling.

However, I do remember the special summer days spent fishing with my grandfather. The routine began with an evening trip to the golf course. Yes, the golf course. With flashlight and coffee can in hand, we were ready to pounce upon the earthworms as they poked their heads above the surface of the freshly watered course. When we returned home, we packed them in soil with newspaper strips on top, placing them in the refrigerator for the fishing day ahead.

Fishing began for my siblings and me with long bamboo cane poles, longer than the length of a station wagon. Having six younger brothers and sisters, my grandfather would take us out in the motor boat three or four at a time. Are you getting a mental picture of this image? One adult with three or four young children with very long cane poles extending out from all sides of the boat. Grandfather would bait our hooks one-by-one, place the lines in the water for us, and hand us the poles. Our instructions were to sit still and to watch the bobber. If it went under, we were to give our pole a little jerk.

Well, that's all fine and well. But, Grandfather had a rod and reel. Grandfather would cast his rod and reel. Now for kids sitting in a boat waiting for a fish to bite, the idea of casting the pole becomes very enticing. So, sooner or later, one of us would get the idea that our bobber had floated just a little too close to the boat and attempt to cast this very long pole with a line, by the way, which was also very long. Of course, as soon as one got this idea, another followed suit and then another. Pretty soon, lines were flying, the boat was rocking, and Grandpa was having a near heart attack as he dodged hooks and poles flying through the air. I will admit to once hooking my Grandmother's cheek.

The fact of the matter is, though, that most of the time fish are not lining up waiting to swallow your hook. Therefore, there are long stretches of doing nothing. It helps to be able to at least cast every now and then.

Anyone who has done any amount of fishing knows what it's like to sit for long stretches at time without catching anything. That is what had happened to Simon Peter, James, and John in our gospel story. They had been out all night and had caught nothing. And they were using nets, not individual fishing lines.

No doubt they were beat and probably more than a bit discouraged. A good day's sleep was just what they needed. But, here came Jesus, the crowds pressing upon him so that he asked Simon to take him out in the boat away from shore where he could preach to the crowd without being trampled. Admit it-the last thing you would want to hear after pulling an all-nighter would be a sermon. But, there Peter sat, listening as Jesus preached, probably fighting to keep his eyelids open. Finally, Jesus finished, but then he gave a directive: "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch." Was he crazy? They had been out all night long and hadn't caught a thing. What was this carpenter's son from Nazareth thinking? They were exhausted. But, Simon owed him one. Jesus had, after all, healed his mother-in-law of her fever.

Out they went, and then the wonders began. The fish were everywhere. Simon Peter had to call a second boat for help and even then the fish kept coming until nets were bursting and boats were filled to the point of sinking. Peter was in shock. He was a fisherman and he knew this was not normal. Recognizing the presence of God and in total awe, he fell before Jesus uttering the words, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man"-the same response Isaiah had when confronted by the presence of God.

But Jesus didn't go away. Nor did he say, "Right you are-you are a sinful man. Now clean-up your act. I've got work for you to do." No, Jesus' response was one of acceptance, even tenderness. "Do not be afraid" and then he spoke the words that would change Simon Peter's life, "from now on you will be catching people." With those words of grace and acceptance, Peter, and his partners, James and John, willingly left everything behind and followed Jesus-just as Isaiah boldly responded, "Here am I; send me!"

We are talking about God's call and, more specifically, God's call to the most unlikely of people. The Biblical witness is quite clear about this-Remember Abraham, the father of the Israelite people? But do you remember the part of the story where he tried to pass off Sarah as his sister offering her to the Pharaoh as a wife in the hopes that all would go well for him? Or Jacob, a man who lied and schemed against his own father and brother in order to get the birthright. Then there's Moses, the one God chose to lead the people out of Egypt, a murderer. And then, of course, David, not only an adulterer, but also the mastermind behind the death of Bathsheba's husband. Over and over again God calls those who by most standards would NEVER be fit for God's work. And now Jesus has called three small town fishermen to be his disciples—imperfect at best as evidenced by Peter's eventual denial and James and John's argument over who is the greatest. Yet, they are the ones who are chosen to help plant the church-the church of which we are a part today.

Deeply, flawed human beings, chosen by God to do God's work here on this earth. We sometimes forget how nicely we fit into this Biblical story with all our flaws, shortsightedness, and ordinariness. Too often we think of the Biblical saints as somehow being inherently more "saintly" than we will ever be or could ever hope to be. We forget about the disciples' weaker moments and their denseness in understanding what Jesus was trying to teach them. We forget that Paul, the great evangelist to the Gentiles, once mercilessly hunted down Christians to persecute them. And we forget that Martin Luther who spoke such truth about God's gift of grace and forgiveness, also spoke with such blind abuse against the Jews, the Turks, and the Pope.

Yet, all these people, God called for a purpose and God worked through all of them despite their weaknesses and limited vision. If we're not getting a little nervous, we should at least be humbled. God does not accept the excuse that we are not good enough or not worthy enough for God's calling. After all, who was it that created us in the first place? Last week we heard of Jeremiah's experience of this when God passed right over his complaints that he did not know how to speak just as Moses had similarly tried to complain before him. God works in mysterious ways and perhaps the use of us very unpredictable human beings is the most mysterious of all. What God was looking for in his prophets and Jesus in his disciples, was not perfection, or perfect understanding, or correct orthodoxy, but a simple "yes" to the invitation to follow, living as God's people, serving others in the love of Christ, inviting them, too, to experience God's call for their lives.

We are each called in unique ways, in our own unique places throughout the week, to witness to the love of God through our words and actions. On Sundays we gather as a community to thank God for God's faithfulness and to be renewed and strengthened in our calling as God's servants in this world. But, there is another little piece to this calling. And that is that Peter and James and John left EVERYTHING to follow Jesus. Note, though, that the ability to do this came in response to the awe they felt in the presence of Jesus' acceptance and calling of them-sinners though they were. To follow will always require leaving some things, perhaps precious things, behind-they may be material things, they may be ambitions, they may be prejudices or a sense of comfort with life the way it is. Discipleship always requires some losing and leaving for the sake of finding, some risk for the sake of growing. For that reason, perhaps it's time to ask the questions again,

To what is God calling you at this point in your life? What is the challenge for which God is preparing you?

To what is God calling St. Paul Lutheran Church at this point in its history? For what is God preparing this community?

And, most importantly, are we willing to follow? Like Peter, and James, and John, Jesus is calling us to a journey. It will, no doubt, at the very least be surprising. Jesus' own disciples continually struggled and came up short when trying to comprehend the expansiveness of God's vision and grace. Yet, Jesus did not give up on them, and, ultimately, they did not fail him. We, too, can be sure we will stumble, but we can also be assured that God is calling us—as individuals and as a faith community. God is calling us to faithfulness.

I mentioned my grandfather in the beginning. It's true. He did teach me to fish. But, this gospel story made his memory come to mind for a much more important reason. My grandfather was a follower of Jesus, a saint. No, he wasn't anyone famous and he certainly won't be canonized by the church, but he did teach me about the unconditional love of Jesus, he did teach me about his love for the church, and for the mission of the church, he did teach me that all people are loved by God.

In his quiet way, he did much for the Body of Christ. Today my home congregation, in a different community from where my grandparents lived, is being served by a pastor trained through a seminary fund my grandparents set up through their church, a fund I didn't even know about until after this pastor was called and he somehow learned my mother's maiden name.

Sometimes we are called in dramatic ways for dramatic purposes; sometimes our calling is much closer to home in much more quiet ways. Personally, I still like the idea of changing the world, but I've come to realize the importance of tending to the heart—each heart—through the love of Jesus Christ. To that, God is calling us—in big ways and in little ways. Whatever the scope of our calling, we will not fail if we continue to say "yes" to God's presence in our lives, if we continue to seek God's guidance along the way. God will work through us—sometimes even in spite of ourselves. AMEN.

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FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY

Reconciling in Christ Sunday
January 28, 2001
Luke 4:21-30

What happens when the Good News is not what we expect? Last week we left Jesus at his homecoming in the temple in his hometown of Nazareth. Jesus had read from the book of Isaiah and things had gotten off to a very good start. People were amazed at his gracious words—good

news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed. They were so proud of him. If they'd had cars back then they'd probably have had a bumper sticker—Jesus, our hometown boy. When one of our own does well, when a city is recognized, when a sports team is winning, it's amazing how we all seem to live vicariously through that achievement.

But, just as quickly as the congregation had been enchanted with Jesus, their mood changed. Just as easily as the weather vane in Mary Poppins suddenly turned to face the opposite direction, so the pride and exclamations of amazement directed towards Jesus suddenly gave way to anger and a rage that was driven to kill. Ominously, as easily as we rally around successes, so can the emotions of a crowd be whipped up into anger with alarming hysteria.

When I was studying for the ministry, my bishop was William Lazareth of the Metropolitan New York Synod of the ELCA. Bishop Lazareth is well-respected as a theologian not only in our church but also through his work with the Faith and Order Division of the World Council of

Churches. He would repeatedly counsel us as seminarians to get off our soapboxes when preaching and to preach the Good News, the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Ranting and raving, haranguing a congregation about social justice issues was of no use if the Gospel, the Good News, wasn't preached and heard.

Well, today Jesus preached the Good News in the temple. But the people did not hear it as Good News. This wasn't the Good News they were expecting. The result of this Good News was a rage so intent that it caused them to want to kill Jesus, their hometown boy, by hurling him off a cliff.

What were they expecting? And, what was it that they heard? The words that Jesus had read from Isaiah—that the Spirit of the Lord was upon him to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed, and a Jubilee year when all debts would be forgiven—were words that had given the Israelite people hope for a long, long time. They had known oppression, they had known bondage, they had known what it was like to be exiled far from home. They recounted these stories over and over again so as to never forget them, and it was these very words that gave them consolation and hope as a people. As we heard from Nehemiah and Ezra last week, when they returned home from exile, their eagerness to reclaim their religious traditions resulted in an exceedingly zealous purging of their culture of

any foreign influences—including spouses—that had become part of them during the exile. The rules and regulations for proper religious devotion became stricter and tighter. God had been faithful and delivered them, set them free. Now, they would do their part to be exceptionally faithful in their devotion.

If you think along these lines what Jesus says today is an absolute shock and brings cries of heresy. Jesus referred to two stories about the great prophets Elijah and Elisha, stories from the Hebrew scriptures which the people sitting in the pews would certainly have known, although

you have to wonder if they had selectively forgotten them and their calling through Abraham to be a blessing to all the nations.

The first is the story of the widow at Zarephath in Sidon. These words of description might not mean much to us today, but they were very significant in Biblical times. As a widow, she was already in an unfortunate situation in society, on the fringes, often lumped together with the orphaned and destitute. Indeed in Hebrew the word widow resembles the word to "be mute" reflecting her lack of status in society. In addition to this, she was a Gentile, an outsider. The story is told at a time when the Israelite people under King Ahab had turned to worshipping the false image of Ba'al. God responds with a famine, and it is to this Gentile widow that God sends Elijah for food. It is she who heeds God's command through Elijah and feeds him even though she and her son are near death. For her faithfulness, they are blessed with a never ending jar of meal and jug of oil, and her son who was struck by a severe illness is healed by God through Elijah.

The second story is of Naaman. Naaman was also a Gentile, a Syrian. Unlike the widow, he was a powerful man who served as commander of the army for the king. Alas, he, also, had leprosy—a terribly debilitating disease that causes horrific damage to the skin. Through a servant he hears that there is a prophet in Samaria who can bring healing. He sets off to find that prophet who turns out to be Elisha. When he comes to the entrance of the prophet's house, Elisha instructs him through a messenger to go to the River Jordan and to wash seven times. Thereupon

his flesh would be restored and he would be healed. But, Naaman, powerful man that he was, was incensed and enraged that Elisha had not even come out to see him himself. Surely there were other better rivers than the Jordan for someone as powerful as he. His servants, however,

convinced him to give it a try and sure enough he was healed. Fully contrite and humbled, he returned to offer his undying devotion to the God of Israel.

In both cases, it was foreigners, outsiders, who recognized and submitted to the power of God. Those in the temple were not prepared to hear God's word of promise extended so broadly—so broadly as to include those who were clearly outside their community and their understanding of

themselves as God's chosen people. In one succinct episode Luke condensed the essence of all that is to follow in the gospel story.

God's compassion knows no boundaries, God's call for justice is radical. It goes far beyond anything the synagogue community had comprehended or the church today has grasped. As a result, righteous indignation filled the synagogue. Blasphemy! How dare he say such things? He must be silenced by death for what he has uttered against God. This time, Jesus escaped. It was not yet his time. But it would be. Jesus would die for proclaiming a kingdom which is open to all.

The great irony is that the very words that incensed the righteous as blasphemy were in fact God's truth, God's good news. God was setting them free, releasing them from the tyranny of the "ins" and the "outs," those who belonged and those who didn't. God was asking for faithfulness in one's relationship with God and a life of justice towards all God's people which grew out of that. In pushing the boundaries, God was challenging the community beyond the danger which the path of exclusivity would lead them.

The danger lives on today. The last century will forever be marked by the evil to which Nazi Germany succumbed in its belief that the Aryan nation was the one true superior race. In nations around the world—from the history of slavery in this country to sanctioned apartheid in South

Africa—those with darker skin color have suffered at the hands of those with lighter skin color. Sadly, but true, the church has more than once found itself mistakenly on the wrong side of the Gospel—the side of hurting rather than healing, of blasphemy rather than the Good News.

Today the churches struggle with the acceptance and validation of the gifts of gays and lesbians within the life of our churches and within ordained ministry. Two years ago this congregation became a Reconciling in Christ congregation—a congregation that intentionally lets it be

known that it welcomes all people, and, in particular, those of all sexual orientations. Why single out sexual orientation? Because quite frankly not all places, not even all churches are safe for those who are not heterosexual. There is still much fear, much misunderstanding, and much harassment in our society. If we ever thought otherwise, the horrifying death of Matthew Shepherd was shocking testimony to this truth.

When people like Matthew Shepherd lose their lives to hate or people like James Byrd are dragged to their death simply because of their skin color, the Body of Christ cries out in pain. The church must listen again in a very intent way to Jesus' words. Then the community must talk

with one another—honestly, openly, prayerfully, sharing each other's stories—within congregations and between congregations. Besides internal dialogue and dialogue with other city churches, this

congregation also needs to be in conversation with suburban and rural congregations. In sharing our stories, we learn one another's fears and concerns, our joys and sorrows, our gifts that we can give and receive from one another. The Bible is full of stories that help us to see God's kingdom in a new light. Telling our stories will help all of us grow to a deeper understanding of God's Good News for all people.

What was it that people in Jesus' hometown were expecting to hear? What was it that they heard? And, what was it that they didn't hear? What they expected to hear was a validation of their long suffering and faithfulness in the service of God. What they thought they heard was an attack on God's word and a threat to their own place as God's chosen people. In their overprotective zeal to safeguard God's word, they had stifled it in a box where the winds of the Spirit could not move them and where they could not hear God's own Son setting them free. What they didn't hear is that God's world is far bigger than our limited imaginations. That God's banquet table is set for far more than any church supper. And that they, like all the others, were welcome.

Was the Good News what they expected? No, but growing in God's Word and in community we come to realize that it was even better than they expected. AMEN.

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Happiness is ...

Pentecost XXII – B
November 12, 2000
given by Pastor David Stubbs

While St. Paul Church is distinct among congregations in our city, there is one thing we have in common with other parishes. Fall is stewardship time and during several weeks in October and November, we have an opportunity to make a financial commitment to the work of our church. When the stewardship committee invited me to preach I was both delighted and frightened. This is the last Sunday before we make our commitments and so I assumed it was intended the subject of the sermon should include giving. And you know how parishioners feel about preachers that talk about money. But because I am granted great satisfaction and fulfillment from preaching, I decided to chance it. So here I am and there you are.

Whether during my years in parish ministry or as a lay person, stewardship campaigns always remind me of the story about the rabbi, the priest and the Lutheran pastor who were enjoying their weekly golf game. On this particular day, the subject of giving found its way into their conversation. After talking for a while about giving among people in their various communities, the Lutheran pastor wondered how each of them determined how much to give to God.

"Well," said the priest, "I draw and circle on the ground. Then, standing inside the circle, I throw all my money in the air. Whatever falls outside the circle, I give to God and whatever falls inside the circle, I keep for myself."

The rabbi opined as how she did something similar. "However," he said, "I draw a line and stand on it. I throw all my money in the air and whatever falls to the right of the line, I give to God. What falls to the left I keep for myself." Then the rabbi addressed the pastor. "And how do you decide what to give?"

"Well", said the pastor, "My method is less complex than either of yours. I simply throw all my money in the air. I believe God will keep what God wants and what falls to the ground is mine."

Seriously though, it was truly a pleasant surprise to discover the appointed lessons for today portrayed two faithful women . . . . . both very poor . . . . . both living on the fringes . . . . . who willingly (perhaps even, happily) gave away all they possessed. "What a model for Christian giving!" I thought. Perhaps, for them, happiness is sharing with others whatever it is they possess, even when it is very little. So with that in mind, I set out to prepare a stewardship sermon emphasizing, if you will, the happiness of giving.

Searching my files, I discovered a newspaper clipping, taken from a 1984 Rocky Mountain News.

Let me share part of this story with you . . . "At 83, Johanna Huddleston likes life in the fast lane.

She particularly likes it when she’s driving her new $20,000, fully electronic, six-cylinder, cranberry red, 1985 Nissan 300 Z-X with T-top and digital dashboard, plus full stereo sound. . . ." . . "I just decided I wanted a sports car," she said. "I’m not going to live 100 more years, and I can’t take my money with me. I figured I might as well go sporty." . . . . . Huddleston keeps a cane in the back of the car and walks a little slowly. She had to get the automatic transmission because arthritis and bad hip joints make using a clutch difficult. She likes the lumbar support on the seat because it eases her back pain.

But once Huddleston gets into the driver’s seat, the problems of age disappear.

She hits the gas pedal with a vengeance, turns up the stereo system, curses traffic congestion, admonishes those who don’t use blinkers and harasses slow-moving BMWs.

"We’re in a fast age and this is a fast car," she said. "automobiles are my life. If I couldn’t drive, I might as well be six feet under."

I know nothing more of this dear lady than what I’ve just read to you. But the story is quite a contrast with the stories from our lessons. What the story does tell us is that Joanna was determined to live her life as fully as possible ‘til the very end . . . . . and we may assume that for her – happiness is a new $20,000 red sports car. I wonder what becomes of her happiness if the car turns out to be a lemon? Or if it’s damaged in an accident?

Last Tuesday, we went to the polls to elect people to fill government office – to determine issues related to gambling – to address (one more time) the issue of abortion – to vote on raising/lowering taxes. Perhaps, for the electorate, happiness is getting the right people in office (if we someday find out who we actually chose) and making sure proper laws are on the books. What happens to that happiness six months or two years down the road, when the honeymoon is over and we’re perhaps dissatisfied with our chosen candidate – or if the economy turns sour – or some other unthinkable thing happens?

Happiness for many of us – is the good life – adequate money – a nice car – the vacation of a lifetime . . . . . And there’s nothing wrong with any of those things – they can be blessings. Happiness for our nation may be wise governance, a stable economy, a balanced budget . . . . . those too, may be blessings! Or, any of them may become a curse. If we allow them to consume us – to become an end all – the only reason for being alive.

The widow of Zarephath had none of them – she had no governmental protection. She surely had no monthly welfare check or food stamps. It made no difference for her existence whether the government was stable or the economy good. Her only possessions included a little flour and some oil – enough to make a last meal before starvation set in. I wonder if she happily obeyed Elijah in using her meager store to prepare a meal for him?

In Mark’s story about the widow putting into the temple treasury her entire purse, it is not his intent to tell us whether she is happy in her giving. I believe Mark writes for a completely different purpose. For the gospel of Mark was written about the time of the final destruction of the Temple and the crushing of the Jewish nation. I believe the Gospel of Mark was written for people who were faced with the imminent destruction of all they held dear or had already experienced that destruction – and they likely were feeling some ambivalence about what it meant to be children of God and sisters and brothers of Jesus. If God is God, doing what God is supposed to do, and if the promises Jesus made are so, shouldn’t things be in better shape? Shouldn’t this be a better world? I believe those were the questions the hearers of Mark’s gospel were asking.

Mark’s answer to their questions – look to the cross. Mark directs those early readers and us to give our attention to the cross as the one pivotal point in history where we discover, not only the meaning of Jesus’ life, but also meaning and purpose for our lives. And so it is with what we have just read today about this poor widow and what she does with the little bit she has. The cross is about service, it’s about giving, even when there’s little left to give. Even in suffering (and the cross is about suffering) there is a deep abiding happiness in serving our sisters and brothers. Imagine, if you will, those people to whom Mark is writing. The countryside is ravaged, their homes destroyed, their towns plundered, their central place of worship is gone, women have been raped, children killed. Was there any hope left for them? Why bother? They’d followed this so called Messiah and look . . . . . Mark’s message to them: "Dear ones – all these things you’ve lost are not what give meaning to your lives. There is deeper purpose." Purpose, meaning and, yes, happiness come from being who you were made to be. They come from doing your thing . . . from singing your song. The widow in the story was doing and being who she was even though her gift and her presence did not appear as significant as those among whom she found herself.

It was in a hospital room I first met Ira and his wife, Alice, in 1975. For me, that was the beginning of one of the important friendships in my life. I give thanks that God blessed me with the years we had. Ira, who, without a doubt, was a very proud man – and he wore his pride well. But being proud didn’t mean he saw himself as better than others. Not given to sentiment, he didn’t talk a lot about his faith. He wasn’t blessed with great learning and abundant financial resources. But he lived a happy life of being Ira, of singing his song, of sharing who he was. Whether providing a ride for someone who would otherwise be homebound, regaling some lonely person with one of his many stories, or performing a little chore at which some might scoff (making innumerable pots of coffee for our seniors group – each week assuring the pew pencils were sharpened and the pew pocket materials current – fixing squeaky hinges and broken door stops – doing what someone else forgot). Like the widow in Mark’s story, Ira didn’t possess a great deal, but he was willing to give what he had, to be a servant, to walk the way of the cross. A few days before he died, Ira told me he was happy because he’d "had a full life." When I remember Ira, I’m buoyed by my memory of his happiness in giving. His happiness didn’t materialize from his great possessions (he had none), nor from his marvelous work nor his outstanding life. His happiness was a gift from God and he knew it. His happiness came from the knowledge that God loved and Ira loved in return. Ira’s life was full because in baptism, he was grafted onto the very Body of the One who loved him. In the waters he was sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the Cross . . . . . And that’s how he lived his life. He lived his life as that cracked, mis-shaped pot in which God had taken residence. And in the life he lived and the song he sang, God was revealed.

In a few minutes we will come to this table to share bread and wine. In the sharing, God will take up residence in us. God, not unlike the widow of Zarephath or Mark’s widow, will give us all God has. Like the widow of Zarephath’s meal and oil, this bit of bread and this sip of wine will continue to feed us. The store will not be spent. Jesus’ life, like the widow’s coins, was all he had – and he willingly gave it away. For us.

Happiness is . . . experiencing the generosity of God who gives everything and happiness is . . . living our life as God intended, fully and generously.

Amen and amen!