My mom grew up in New Jersey during the
Great Depression. Her dad had died when she was quite young, leaving
her mother to raise two children on a greatly reduced income. Money
was always scarce, and the little family got used to doing without
lots of things. After World War II, my parents were married and set
off to live in southern California—then a land flowing with milk
and honey and a booming aerospace industry which offered plenty of
work for my engineer dad. Things were pretty good for our family for
years. But in the early 1970's, loss of government contracts led to
massive layoffs in my dad's line of work. He suddenly found himself
unemployed. For my mom, the Great Depression returned—privation
like a soggy, mildewed blanket descended on her personality, and she
never quite got over the feeling that economic catastrophe was
waiting right around the corner.
At the end of her life she lived in an
assisted living facility, suffering from severe COPD. Even though she
was well provided for by Social Security, my late father's pension,
and a large cash flow from the sale of her home, she still fretted
over money. As her financial power of attorney, I admitted to her
that, yes, she was spending slightly more than she was earning
for her care and lodging in the nice facility.
“If you keep spending the way you
are, Mom,” I told her, “you will run through your savings in
about thirty years.”
“Thirty years..?” she said. “I
won't live that long.”
“Then you have nothing to worry
about, do you?” I replied.
I had to sigh when I considered how
this dear woman who had so successfully passed on to me her Hessian
ancestors' Lutheran faith, taught my Sunday School class, and asked
her friends—elderly widows from our home congregation—to help her
memorized the 23rd Psalm was so slow to recognize how
goodness and mercy had followed her all the days of her life.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I
shall not be in want.”
“Shepherd” is a curious metaphor for Jesus. Israel's ancient
kings were often compared to shepherds who cared for the sheep, but,
by Jesus' day, shepherds were looked upon with a certain amount of
distaste. They were rather like gypsies—itinerant wanderers who
weren't entirely trustworthy. And yet, how very like Jesus to
identify with those who were on the margins.
Pastor Violet Little of Philadelphia's The Welcome Church—a church
with no physical headquarters which ministers to Philly's homeless
community—tells a story about one of her homeless congregants who,
after finding a five dollar bill fluttering on the city street,
donated the bill to the ministry in the hope that it would help the
less fortunate. The irony, of course, is that it is hard to imagine
anyone less fortunate than the poor vagrant who made the donation
himself!
Pastor Little asked her congregants what they thought she should do
with the five spot. Eventually, The Welcome Church decided to begin
the “I Have a Dream Fund,” an ongoing fund providing grants to
congregations which serve the needy and live out the vision of Dr.
Martin Luther King for a just society. Thanks to a generous prize
awarded to Pastor Little from Encore.org and a few other charitable
sources, the “Dream Fund” continues to grow and bestow—all from
the faith of a man living on the fringes of our commonwealth.
“Yea, though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil”
I often ask myself why the compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary
chose to marry certain texts together, but I think I'm starting to
see the connection between Jesus the comforting shepherd and
protective gate of John 10 (our gospel lesson for this Sunday) and
those early Christian socialists of Acts 2 (our first lesson). In
John's gospel, Jesus tells us that he came, “...that (you) may have
life, and have it abundantly.” This abundant life in the
resurrected Jesus is a life which believes so thoroughly in God's
ultimate goodness and mercy that there is no room for fear. This
means that there is the freedom to be generous, just as Pastor
Little's homeless parishioner felt free to give away the found five
dollar bill in the belief that something great, powerful, and Godly
would come from his action. So the early Christians had the moral
courage to sell their possession, pool their resources, and donate to
all who had any need.
Martin Luther wrote in the Small Catechsim:
“I believe that God created me
together with all that exists. God has given me and still preserves
my body and soul...in addition, God DAILY
AND ABUNDANTLY...provides all the necessities and
nourishment for this body and life.”
The early church, along with the folks at The Welcome Church, seem to
understand this. I wish my poor, anxious, Lutheran mom had had a
little more trust in the Good Shepherd. I think she would've enjoyed
her life a little more abundantly. But I try to listen to the
Shepherd's voice and blot out the noise that says “there's not
enough,” or “it's too risky,” or “you're just wasting your
efforts.”
Jesus is calling scared sheep like us to follow him with glad and
generous hearts.
Thanks for dropping by, my friend!
PS-It's no risk
at all to sign my petition to Pope Francis asking that Lutherans and
Roman Catholics come together again at the table of Holy Communion
after a 500 year separation. The big Reformation anniversary is
coming in 2017. Let's see if we can't nudge the world into a little
more harmony by then. Just think: If ELCA Lutherans can break bread
with Rome, we might one day actually share the Eucharist with the
Missouri Synod! Please click on my petition here.
PPS-If you'd
like to read a little more about a really great ministry, click the link
to The Welcome Church
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