Our congregation is in its 50^th year of ministry, all at the same location, although it has moved around a little as buildings gradually appeared on the property.  Even the configuration of the acreage was adjusted through the years.  Next year, 2008, we will spend time remembering and celebrating that half-century.

As we make plans for all of that, we are accumulating and reviewing photographs and documents.  A keepsake calendar is being created, memories and current activities are being recorded, and invitations for speakers and guests are being prepared.  We will enjoy looking back at changing styles and thickness of hair, remembering people who no longer are with us, and reliving significant moments and events.

Things have changed dramatically in fifty years, and our focus on the history and development of our church simply would be self-indulgent without some thought of the future.  It is my belief that God is acting within the life of the church today, calling people of faith to new vitality in our spiritual awareness, and urging us to broaden our perspective on and perceptions of ministry, faithfulness, and the church.

Yes, looking back is important to help us remember who we are, and how God has been present in our lives before.  But, it also is necessary to listen to the direction in which God calls us now, allowing ourselves the freedom to be open and responsive.  Our past doesn’t tie us down, but rather it provides the foundation upon with the future will be built.

Keeping God at the center of our life together as a community is uppermost, for that is why our church, and all others, was established in the first place.  The church is about God, and about following Jesus.  It is about making God’s name known, and being a blessing to others.  The church is a visible sign of the power and persistence of God’s transforming love – in whatever city, town, or even wilderness it is located.

The ways this all is relevant and gets expressed is different now from the ways of fifty years ago.  But one thing is certain:  even after fifty years, with all of the highs and lows, accomplishments and failures, and after all the changes, those welcomed and those begrudged, God’s love is applicable, very necessary, and available. 

Growing up, I was a dedicated fan of baseball, and must admit that I held baseball players in high regard.  I wrote a few fan letters and collected a handful of autographs.  It was my good fortune even to become personally acquainted with a couple of players, Dave Baldwin, a relief pitcher for my hometown Washington Senators, and Ted Kluszewski, who was a big-time power hitter mostly in the National League, a little before my time, but whose baseball camp I attended one year and worked at the next.   I actually became better acquainted with him several years later.

When I knew Big Klu, he was the hitting instructor for the Cincinnati Reds and their fabled “Big Red Machine,” featuring Johnny Bench, Pete Rose, Tony Perez, Joe Morgan, and others.  Klu died in 1988.  Dave Baldwin, who also played for the Milwaukee Brewers and Chicago White Sox, still is a friend and regular correspondent.  He lives on the opposite side of the continent, but we have managed a few visits through the years.

Lately, it seems, numerous accomplished professional athletes, baseball players among them, have become anti-heroes and definitely not positive role models for young people.  Pete Rose got himself in lots of trouble with gambling and lying about it.  Barry Bonds is a controversial figure, with suspicions of performance-enhancing drugs clouding his recent ascendance to become the all-time major league home run leader.   Football players Michael Vick, O.J. Simpson and others also have famously scuffled with the law.  The list goes on.

Christian Century notes that as 2007 is the 60^th anniversary of Jackie Robinson becoming the first African-American to play major league baseball in the modern era (not to mention also the 35^th anniversary of his passing at age 53), little has been mentioned of his faith commitments and civil rights work.

Jackie Robinson, according to the news item, was a member of the United Church of Christ, was a leader in men’s ministries within the church, and also took part in social ministries sponsored by the National Conference of Christians and Jews, and the National Council of Churches.

Jackie Robinson was known as a “race man,” in the sense that he was proud of his African-American heritage and did much to raise the consciousness of our society on the value of positive race relations, and to help people who endured oppression because of who they were.

Jackie Robinson was more than a baseball player, although he was an outstanding performer in the game that likely was his worst sport.  He was an exceptional athlete in college football as well as track and field prior to playing pro baseball.

A forthcoming book by Michael G. Long, First Class Citizenship:  The Civil Rights Letters of Jackie Robinson, fills in some of the gaps about a memorable person whose brief life made a lasting impact on the lives of many people, even to this day.

I think the UCC must be proud of this member of their church.

According to an article in The Washington Post, some 150 protestors assembled yesterday at the Rayburn House Office Building on Capitol Hill “to deliver written rebukes to members of Congress who support President Bush’s Iraq policy.”   Police were tense, because a large anti-war demonstration in Washington last weekend resulted in the arrest of almost 200 people near the Capitol.  Yesterday’s action was tame by comparison.

In fact, agreements were reached prior to the festivities:

“Before leading the group into the building, one of the protest organizers, Medea Benjamin, a founder of the antiwar group Code Pink, approached the officer in charge, Capt. William Hanny of the U. S. Capitol Police. 

‘Okay, if we do anything you don’t want in there, would you give us a warning first? she said.  ‘We don’t want to get arrested today.  We’ve got people catching planes tonight.’

‘We will give you a warning,’ Hanny replied. ‘But it’s going to be up to you.’

‘Because sometimes people want to get arrested,’ she said.  ‘They do what they have to do to get arrested.  This is not one of those days.’

The captain nodded.  ‘Just don’t block the hallways.  Don’t blow whistles.  Don’t cause a disturbance.  Don’t do any of that, and we’ll be okay.’”

Things have changed in my lifetime.  Protests and civil disobedience seem to have more of a “Saturday in the park feel to them than what I recall from the days of the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam era.  I also think they are less effective.

It’s almost as if the protests, marches, and days when people “do what they have to do to get arrested” largely are symbolic, and perhaps mainly are somehow therapeutic to the participants.  My impression of much of the unrest in earlier struggles was that there was more of a challenge of those in authority and power, often by people with a lot to lose.

Frankly, mass-produced letters, post cards, and emails have little impact on legislators.  They easily can recognize an orchestrated effort by an interest group.  Getting “face time” with senators or representatives in their Washington offices is extremely difficult, unless you’re backed up by a wheelbarrow filled with cash.

My belief is that the most effective way to influence elected national officials is to make an appointment to them seem in their offices “back home,” attend a town hall type of meeting in which he or she fields questions and comments from the audience, and to write your own letter on an issue.

When you meet with, or write to a politician, always be polite (if you wish to be taken seriously); briefly note their policy positions with which you share some common ground; succinctly and clearly state your views on the issue on which you disagree; say why you disagree with them; and let them know who you represent, if you are speaking on behalf of anyone besides yourself.  It also helps to develop and on-going relationship with your legislator, so that as they know what you’re thinking and how you’re reacting to the concerns of the day, more of a give-and-take approach can develop.

Protesting public policy directions and issues is a legitimate and important means of expression in our society.  Doing it to put notches in your belt is a waste of everyone’s time

Treating others as you wish to be treated, and living a life consistent with the values expressed in your protest can facilitate meaningful change.

At the one of the churches in which I was a pastor, there was a dignified man, very devoted to the church, involved in Christian education, and genuinely concerned for the well-being of others.  He served as an elder in the congregation, and took seriously the role of spiritual leader. His prayers at the communion table always were relevant and eloquent.

One day following an elder’s meeting, he lingered to speak with me about a concern.  Our conversation ranged beyond the matter he expressed to me, and after we had spoken for quite some time he shared something about himself that he insisted I keep confidential.

He was a clown.

Yes, that’s right.  He told me he was a clown.  He spent time at pediatric wards and other places where there were children, especially children with some sort of difficulty or need.  He visited them, painted their faces, performed simple magic tricks, played games with them – anything he could think of to bring them a little happiness.

This man told me he attended clown conventions and even wrote a regular column in a related national publication.  As you may have guessed, I was astounded to learn of this aspect of the man’s life.  I’m not quite sure why he insisted it remain a secret, but I was honored that he took me into his confidence.

People have many ways by which they give expression to their faith.  Their lives are complex, and spiritual gifts vary from individual to individual.  It’s always wonderful to see when a person finds his or her niche, and that they derive a sense of fulfillment from the ways they share the love of Christ with others.  Some teach Sunday school.  Some sing or play music.  Others visit homebound folks.  Still others drive people to their doctor’s appointments, or take them shopping.  All are vital ways of bringing light into someone’s life.

And some, simply put, are clowns.

Yesterday, a roadside bomb killed Abdul-Sattar Abu Risha, the head of the Anbar Salvation Council.  He was credited with cooperating with the U.S. in organizing effectively to stem the tide of some of the terrorist violence in Iraq.  President Bush met with Abu Risha in Iraq less than two weeks ago to thank him for his efforts. 

Those opposed to Abu Risha already had killed four of his brothers and six other relatives.  Mourners attending Abu Risha’s funeral shouted, “We will get our revenge.”  So, the cycle of violence continues.  Sometimes we shake our head in wonder at the barbarism we see in other cultures. 

It’s a wonder why, though. 

In Miami, a young African-American man opened fire on police during a traffic stop, killing one officer and wounding several others.  Police officers from across the state swarmed to Miami to join in a manhunt for the suspect, and when they found him, the results were predictable. He was shot dead.  There was no arrest or trial. 

A similar case unfolded in Florida a year or two ago.  Again, police from around the state hunted down an African-American man who shot and killed a police officer during a traffic stop.   When they found him, more than 100 rounds from police weapons obliterated him.  I guess they wanted to make sure he was dead.  No sense arresting him and putting him on trial.  Instant justice. 

The cycle of violence continues.  Many factors contribute, whether you consider the culture in the Middle East, or the culture here at home. 

In both cases, solutions are sought through deadly force, and the problems continue.

A news report mentions that the Air Transport Association has advised airline carriers that U. S. Senators no longer should be allowed to book multiple flights, “hedging their bets on when they could get away and paying only for the flight they took.”  This is in response to Senate rules on the acceptance of gifts.  We have to put a lid on corruption, you know, and hold even politicians accountable -- for how, and by whom, they are influenced to vote on important issues.

Apparently, some of our political leaders followed a practice of privilege:  scheduling two or more airline reservations at different times, because they were unsure of when the legislative session would end and they could depart Washington.  The reservations they did not keep just disappeared without charge.  Some Senators now are complaining that if unforeseen developments delay their exit from Washington, they potentially would have difficulty getting a plane home.  Sort of just like the rest of us.

Everyone in the U.S. Senate is a person of privilege.  In fact, most election-winners are people of privilege.  It simply costs so much to run a viable campaign that if you don’t have the money, or the contacts to acquire it, there is no point in running for office, no matter how visionary or dynamic and insightful you might be.

And despite our tendency to put them on pedestals, and to assume higher standards of excellence and even morality, we see on a regular basis that people of privilege are just as prone to incredible fallibility, corruption, and moral failure as the rest of us.

In the community where I live, some are reeling over recent events in which an elected leader was accused of, and admitted to in some measure, child sexual abuse, and then committed suicide as the investigation accelerated.  Now that it is out in the open, there are people saying “rumors” of such behavior have been circulating for a couple of decades. 

One person reported that the deceased regularly bragged of hiring prostitutes, and that he pursued sexual escapades with female clients of his contracting business.  All while he was married to his first wife.  All while he ascended the political ladder within a party espousing “family values.”  No one, apparently, spoke up.

I once had a colleague whose deception was exposed.  He tried lying, diverting attention away from his misdeeds, forcing out staff that were on to his ways – in short, everything he could think of to avoid facing the truth.  Many people previously held this person in high esteem, and some still steadfastly refused to accept or acknowledge his failures. 

Ever since it all came to light, numerous people have approached me unsolicited and told me of instances when they observed this person engaging in his dishonest practices, dating back even ten years or more prior to the public discovery.  All while he was in church leadership.  All while he was touted as someone special within our denomination and beyond.  No one spoke up.

So, it happens, and will continue to happen, and the messes into which people get themselves probably shouldn’t surprise us. 

What is surprising, to me at least, is why we expect those who have been raised up as somehow special, or who are privileged, to be exempt from character flaws and moral failure.

Experience teaches us it just is not the case.

When our older son was a young child, he had an uncanny knack for finding money.  The rest of us somehow could pass blindly over coins, and even sometimes bills, lying on the ground.  Gabe saw them and picked them up.  One time I remember walking into the front entrance of a department store with Gabe and a quarter came rolling along the floor in a wide arc, curving toward him, and collided with his shoe.  He even figured out that there may be lost coins on the floor around photocopy machines in public places, and more than once I saw him head straight for the copier at the library.

I read about a church that began an outreach ministry with a couple of coins found on the sidewalk by a member.  Now all the members are encouraged to bring money they find and throw it in the outreach jar.  The money that was lost, then found, is put to good use, helping other people.

The lectionary for next Sunday includes the parable of the Lost Coin from Luke 15.  The woman who lost the coin searches high and low, sweeping, searching, and persistently pursuing the coin.  Finally, she recovers it, and she was so filled with joy she gathered her friends and neighbors to “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I lost.” (v. 9b, NRSV)

Jesus tells the parable to illustrate God’s passion for recovering the “lost.”  People who are not part of the community of faith are precious to the heart of God.  The community is not whole without them.  God is diligent in drawing them in.

But, you know, to me it isn’t strictly a matter of getting everyone onto church rolls and into the pews.  I think, rather, it is somewhat similar to the congregation that uses lost money for outreach.

The more people there are who experience the grace of God, and have their lives transformed by the love of Christ, the more people there are to make that grace and love known to others, so that blessings abound.

If you’re a member of my church, you’ll hear more about this on Sunday.

Yesterday’s sermon text from Luke 14 was one of those in which Jesus wasn’t smiling.  In fact, one gets the distinct impression that Jesus was more than a little perturbed as he reacted to the posing and posturing of the religious leaders of his day.  Jesus went out of his way to make the point that their behavior wouldn’t cut it for those who wanted to be his disciples.

Jesus spoke of his followers carrying his cross and selling all of our possessions.  One point I made in my sermon was that God knows more than we ever will, and God knows what is best, so we are completely at God’s mercy – and that’s what we get when we seek to follow Jesus.  We try, but inevitably we will fall short in our faithfulness.  Fortunately, we have the power of the Risen Christ to keep us in range of God’s love.

Sermons on commitment and faithfulness can seem harsh and demanding, likely turn-offs for some people who limp into church following the stresses and challenges of the prior week, but the lessons come up in the text, so we try to share the message.

I came across a story shared by William Willamon about people who were up for a challenge: 

“Do you know Teach America? Teach America is an organization which recruits this nation’s best college and university students to go to teach in the most impossible teaching situations in our country. This recruiter from Teach America looked out on a crowd of Duke students. She began by saying, ‘I don’t really know why I am here to night. I can tell just by looking at you that you are probably uninterested in what I have to say. This is one of the best universities in America. You are all successful. That is why you are here, to become an even greater success on Madison Avenue, or Wall Street, or in Law School. And here I stand, trying to recruit some people for the most difficult job you will ever have in your life. I’m out looking for people who want to go into a burned out classroom in Watts and teach Biology. I’m looking for somebody to go into a little one-room school house in West Virginia and teach kids from six years to thirteen years old how to read. We had three teachers killed last year in their classrooms! And I can tell, just by looking at you, that none of you want to throw away your lives on anything like that. On the other hand, if by chance there is somebody here who may be interested, I’ve got these brochures and I am going to leave them down here and will be glad to speak to anybody who is interested. The meeting is over.’

With that, all of the students jumped up, rushed into the aisles, rushed down to the front, starting fighting over her pamphlets, just dying to apply for Teach America.

That night I learned: People are hungry to give their lives to something more important than themselves. It is a fact of life, not only that everything costs us something, but that, in our better moments, we are even eager to pay the cost.”

Jesus looks for our better moments.

Each year, as the anniversary of the September 11th attacks comes around, I recall not only that terrible day, but I also remember another tragedy that occurred that week.  It was the untimely death of Barbara Silverman, my co-worker for my first four years at William Penn House. 

Barbara arrived at William Penn House two months before I did, having just graduated from Earlham School of Religion, and thinking she would spend a year as an intern.  Shortly after her arrival, the Director fired the House Manager, a staff revolt ensued, and several more people ended up leaving, including the Director.  The staff I inherited when I was hired as Director consisted of Barbara, another recently arrived intern, and the custodian. 

Barbara became Acting House Manager, and I was fortunate to keep her around in that role for a few more years.  She eventually entered a program at the University of Pennsylvania to prepare for institutional chaplaincy.

Following her continued education after she left WPH, Barbara found her niche.  She became the House Manager at the Ronald McDonald House in Washington.  So, she was back in town. 

I spoke to Barbara and saw her from time to time as we kept in loose contact over the intervening years, and I truly felt she was fulfilled in her roles as head resident, counselor, chaplain, manager and everything else she did for the young patients and their families who spent time at the Ronald McDonald House. 

At the end of the week preceding the September 11 attacks I received word that Barbara was in the hospital.  She had a severe reaction to a prescription medicine and was experiencing kidney failure. 

I checked on her at the hospital just about every day.  Her condition quickly worsened.  As the news of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon filled the television screen in her hospital room, she seemed barely aware of what was happening.          

Each day brought new complications and narrowing hope for recovery.  Her elderly father was in town standing by, as were her brother and family.  I spent time with all of them apart from the hospital.  It was a very intense week, and finally the day we dreaded arrived.  Barbara died.     

I hurried to the place where her family was staying.  When Barbara’s father, a tiny, fragile man with a variety of health issues of his own, finally came into the lobby, he slowly walked over to me, sat down, and simply said, “Today we have fresh evidence that life isn’t fair.”