APRIL 17, 2005 PASTOR SCOTT FULLER
Take a good look at the beautiful stained glass window behind me. In no uncertain terms, today’s Gospel lesson reveals this truth: Jesus is the Good Shepherd and we are the sheep of his pasture. Now, to some people this is very good news: to those who are helpless, hopeless and hurting; forgotten, forsaken and forlorn. The little lost lamb that we see is only secure when nestled in the strong, loving arms of its Shepherd.
But what about those who are on top of their game, who are hale, hearty and happy; full of vitality, vigor and vim? Will they find a similar sense of good news in this passage? Probably not, according to the author David Murrow who recently wrote the book “Why Men Hate Going to Church.” His argument was detailed last week in an Anchorage Daily News article that pondered the problem of why some men don’t attend worship.
Basically the author says two things. First he asserts that men haven’t moved very far from the “cave man” mindset – we want to be entertained, we want to be motivated by our machismo, we would much rather be the leader than the led, the rescuer than the rescuee, the shepherd than the sheep.
The other part of the problem, the author asserts, has to do with the Church. In practice and theology, he accuses it of becoming too “feminine.” This is a direct quote from the article: Church forces men to act like women, to be placid and calm and nice. They are supposed to adopt good listening skills and comfortably talk about relationships.
Now, I’d love to open this up and invite your reactions, but we don’t have that much time, so instead, I’ll share my take on it and we can talk more over coffee some time.
At a certain level, I think the author scores points with some men who are disconnected with the Church. But at the same time his reasoning is fatally flawed. For example, the art of developing good listening skills has nothing to do with being feminine.
In fact, on the Mount of Transfiguration, when a cloud overshadows Jesus, a voice from heaven says to Peter, James and John (all of whom, I believe, were men) This is my son, the beloved…listen to him! (Luke 9:35). Sorry guys, but the command to listen comes straight from the horse’s mouth.
The truth is that whether we feel strong or spent, filled or empty, happy or hurting, life just about guarantees that we’re going to feel both extremes at some point or another. So for those who are hurting now, and for the rest of us who will hurt at some point in the future, this is a word of grace.
Unfortunately for us, it’s usually only when disaster strikes that our vision clears and we’re able to see this truth about life. Pain, grief and loss have a way of cutting to the quick, of stripping away all that separates us one from another. In the midst of a tsunami, earthquake or tornado, it truly doesn’t matter if a person is macho or meek, female or male, young or old; Black, Caucasian or Hispanic; Christian, Jew or Islamic. We come together as a community of humanity to pray that there is Someone watching over us.
I’ll never forget my own family’s experience of surviving a category four tornado. Though it was a Sunday afternoon in spring, the darkness that settled over us was like the middle of the night. First the t.v. went off the air, followed quickly by the lights. Then with a sound like the roar of a freight train, the storm made its presence known in an all-too tangible fashion. Adding to the cacophony of the craziness, we next heard a whistle like a teapot on the stove as the low pressure of the storm sucked the very air in the room out through the windows.
Then we felt a thump and heard a crash, and a few minutes later, everything was silent. Walking up the stairs from the basement, the fact that a moist breeze was filtering underneath the door told me that our home had definitely been hit. A quick look revealed numerous holes and broken windows, but most dramatic of all was the fact that a corner of our neighbor’s garage roof was now sitting in our living room.
I remember feeling clueless about what to do first. Having turned off the gas and checked with the neighbors, we went to work to cover the gaping hole in our north wall. We tied and anchored tarps as best we could against the cold rain and biting wind. I distinctly remember wishing that I had someone I could turn to who would just take care of everything.
A member of the congregation soon appeared at our door and together we set off down the hill to see if the church was still standing. No one was driving anywhere. With trees and power poles uprooted, trucks and cars tossed about, bricks and boards scattered throughout the streets, the town of St. Peter looked like pictures I’ve seen of war zones.
Approaching the church from the West, it didn’t look too bad, especially compared to the Wisconsin Synod church to the north and the Roman Catholic church to the south. Both of those beautiful buildings looked like they’d been bombed by a squadron of B-52’s.
And inside our church, the story was the same. Nowhere was the damage more clearly seen than in the sanctuary. The entire east wall of stained glass windows had imploded, had been blown into the sanctuary. Glass, branches, insulation, and boards, all kinds of debris covered the altar area and pews.
I distinctly remember wondering: what should we do first? And I distinctly remember wishing that I had someone I could turn to who would just take care of everything. I was wishing that I had someone to watch over me.
The third day following the storm was the last Wednesday in Lent. And though it meant even more work for everyone involved, we decided to go ahead with a worship service. Volunteers gathered to pick glass off the pews, board up the broken windows and clean up the debris.
And, since the power grid for that section of town was destroyed, we set up candles, Coleman lanterns and a generator to provide some light for the occasion. At our daily citywide meetings, my ministry partner, Pastor Eric Natwick, began announcing that on Wednesday evening, Trinity Lutheran would host a B.Y.O.F. worship service (Bring Your Own Flashlight!)
It was a moment of grace that I will never forget. I hope that the author mentioned earlier, David Murrow, gets to experience something like it in his lifetime, along with any other men who think like he does, and anyone else who for any other reason can’t be bothered to gather with others to worship God.
Women, children and men, weary from worry and lack of sleep, hugged each other, shared their stories and cried. Women, children and men, huddled in the cold darkness, sang and prayed and cried. Women, children and men tasted the healing presence of Jesus Christ in the bread and wine, and cried. And in that experience, where women and children and men all gathered to be the body of Christ for each other, God definitely answered my prayer for someone to watch over me. Amen.