Coastal NC friends, please help Lena find a new home!

Lena, whose human mom is a member at Ann Street here in Beaufort, has to find a new home immediately.

Lena is an older dog with special needs, but she is also a very sweet little dog who would make someone a great companion for a couple of months or for life.

She is a 20 pound dachshund-cocker spaniel mix, just off-white with light red spots…her mom calls them freckles. She has a heart condition that is well-controlled with medication, and enjoys short walks for exercise. She is a loving girl who also likes riding around town in the basket of her mom’s bicycle. She has been an only pet but is not aggressive around dogs or cats. She can be shy, though.

I would love to take her myself, but I already have two senior special needs pets who are very jealous. I don’t trust the cat not to terrrorize her or us…plus Ben says he’s my senior husband with special needs, and he’s jealous, too. I think I have my hands full (over-full?)!

If you know someone who might like to share their home with this sweet older girl, please contact the church office or email me at revanne@hotmail.com

Thanks!

The things children say...

Found on a wall outside a Sunday school class at Ann Street...

 

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Why I haven't blogged in the last few weeks...

I was working on the church's new website. Right now, it's running in parallel to the old one, and doesn't have all the content I'd like for it to. But I am thrilled to get it off the "development" pile and onto a "delegate" pile for others to do the work of keeping it up.
It's not the most elegant, and we won't win any design prizes, but there's really not a thing wrong with it.
Yay me!

Birthday silliness

Church member: Happy birthday! So you're what, 29? (with a grin so I know he's kidding...as if I didn't already!)
Me: Umm...yeah, close enough!
It's the 10th anniversary of my 29th birthday, or yeah, I'm 39 today.
I'm trying to decide what degree of crisis to have next year. I just don't think I have it in me to have major drama.


Who am I kidding? If it's fun, of course I do!

Tonight, we're going out to eat, and maybe to a movie. Or maybe I'll cook. I don't know yet. But regardless, I try to meet birthdays with the same attitude my 90-something year old friend Ruby used to say: "I'm still on top of the ground." And any day on top of the ground and still standing is a good day!

It was hard to leave home this morning...

The WonderMutt wanted us to come back to bed...

Sweaty Eyeballs

I did a thing I very much do not like to do on Monday.
Actually, I did two.
I assisted with the funeral of a dear saint of the church who was also a friend and neighbor. I am always honored to have the privilege, but dislike the necessity. I'd have preferred that we not have to have a funeral because she hadn't died, but I don't get to choose such things.
And I cried during the funeral.
There are some proprieties of worship leadership and appropriate church behavior that have been drilled into me as I grew up. I don't leave my arms uncovered in church: when I wear something sleeveless, I must also wear some sort of cover-up. Short sleeves are okay, but there must be some sort of sleeve. I haven't the slightest clue where this came from. I rarely wear pants, and never on a Sunday morning, in a worship service. Extreme weather or a more casual evening service might prompt an exception to this rule, but they are few and far between, and they make me uncomfortable. And stockings or hose of some ...its only been very recently that I have followed the trend of most of the women in the congregation and forgone these when I am wearing a long skirt or dress (which is almost always). And I don't cry in church.
Now, you must understand that I am good at crying. I have always been a crier. Sometimes I can't even explain what I'm crying about. It's sort of like the valve on a pressure cooker for me--it helps me let off a little steam/stress. But as a rule, I try to keep it to myself, or at least save it for home. I am not helped by the fact that once my eyes start to tear, from a yawn or emotion or allergies, they will continue to run. Excessive lachrymation, it's called. I call it a bother.
So when I say I cried at the funeral, I am not saying that I leaked a tear or two. I became choked up during my part of the service, and went on to cry for most of the rest of it. For part of the time, I was still crying because I was angry at myself for crying. For some of the time, I was alternately silently giggling a little and crying, as I tried to jolly myself out of it--hence the sweaty eyeballs, which is one of the things I said to myself.
I am sorry for myself that I cried during the funeral, because I feel badly about it. But one of the friends of the family reminded me that sometimes it can be a comfort and connection to the grieving family to see that the pastor is also grieving. I hope so...I've hidden a few tears sitting in their home over the last five years when a prayer left me with wet eyes. My only real concern is that the funeral does not then become about my grief, and this one did not. Fortunately I was able to finish my part and quietly (slowly) get myself together as Eric did his. And both of us work hard to be mindful that we both mourn loss and celebrate resurrection. I think we managed to do that this time...
I just don't much want it to happen again.
And I hope we get a break for a couple of months, at least, before we have another funeral.

Five thoughts for this Friday

Let me start by saying it was a very dark and stormy night last night.
First,I came home from work exhausted emotionally because we have another funeral on the books. I can't tell you how many we've had in the 5 years we've been here, but it feels like a hundred, and I don't think we're too far off from that. One of the things that makes me a good pastor (if I do say so myself) is my ability to engage with people and their families and connect emotionally, but it's also very hard on me in weeks like this, when there are surgeries and funerals and I feel torn about where I need to be. So that's the darkness part.
Second, because this is my blog and I get to butcher the numbering system, it was stormy. I know this because in my exhaustion, I sat in my recliner and lost a couple of hours to sleep, punctuated by occasional moments of awareness of the noise and light show outside.
Third, I woke up in a sweat because there was a very warm and velcro-like WonderMutt in my lap the whole time. He hates storms and they make him very clingy, so for last night we re-branded him Velcro Puppy.
Fourth, despite it all, today is a beautiful day in Beaufort. The sky is legitimately blue, not overcast or smoky the way it has been for most of the week. I can breathe again! This weekend is the Beaufort Homes and Gardens Tour, and our lovely and historic church is involved again. Our sanctuary is filled with volunteers and visitors, and our fair town is filled with tourists. While our tour guides conduct people in to see our beautiful old stained glass windows and lovely architecture, we are subversively also hoping to help them connect with God as we tell the stories of God's presence here at Ann Street.
And fifth, I feel better today. Not because my grief has lessened, but because I am connecting more closely with God as I think about the stories of God's presence in my deceased friend's life, in the history of the church, in the beauty of my surroundings, and in my much-lightened heart. It's a good day today...thanks be to God!

What almost killed my blog

All 3 of my readers (if you're still out there, and yes, I'm being sarcastic, but I really do love you all) will have noticed by now that something almost killed my blog, even more effectively than the unbloggable summer a couple of years ago.
I think I know what caused a good part of my difficulty, setting aside my propensity to overdo things. It's as simple as this: gallstones. Many in general, and specifically, one the size of a small chicken's egg. According to the surgeon, I have bragging rights over almost anyone else. Also, the surgeon and I agree that it's a shame the hospital wouldn't let me keep at least the big stone...pathology, infection control, blah, blah, blah.
I truly had no idea I was sick at the time. I didn't have classic gall bladder attacks, which usually involved making one lie on the floor in so much pain it's hard to breathe. I didn't have any unexplainable symptoms at all, in fact. And so I never mentioned to any of my doctors that I was getting little 24-hour stomach flu bugs more often than normal (so was everyone else) or that I was having much more indigestion and heartburn than in the past. I did mention the increase in back pain, and we sagely agreed that my spine is a mess and arthritis is what it is, and I took more pain medication this winter and spring...which seemed to explain the indigestion and heartburn, so I took more meds for that. And we all thought it was just a rough winter, with a little undertone of "this doesn't really bode well for the future" and left it at that, because, really, who wants to explore that cheerful thought any further? And after you've felt badly for a while, you forget about it because it becomes the new normal.
However, one week I had a bout of nausea with brutal heartburn that kept me up for several hours one night--and I had a checkup with one of my doctors who asked, as usual, how I was doing. And for once, I didn't say, "Fine," and brush it all under the rug. Instead, I explained about the rough night I'd had, and she asked a question or two, and then asked if I still had my gall bladder...within 12 days, I was having that thing removed.
That was over a month ago, and I know a couple of things. One is that I still can't eat just anything I want. I'm having a hard time transitioning back to the high-fiber diet I had been accustomed to, partly because I fell out of the habit when I was trying to control the indigestion, and partly because I'd forgotten how very yummy white bread and mashed potatoes and white rice and pasta are. The other is that I still don't know for sure how long I was sick and how sick I was--but I feel worlds better than I did. I am still not 100% but I feel better now than I have felt in many, many months.
So maybe I'm back to blogging. Certainly this week looks pretty good. Still not certain about new directions or whatever, but I'm glad to be back.
Thanks for sticking with me.

Best sermon from Annual Conference

This is totally worth watching; I was much encouraged after this sermon.
Dr. Timothy Tennent - Ordination & Commissioning from NCCUMC.org on Vimeo.

Pic of the day...

Silly Marines....learning to drive is one thing. Having working taillights, apparently, is something else entirely.

And I'm back

Ponderous Thoughts “Lament is the mother of hope.” --Rev. Dr. Timothy Tennent Another Annual Conference has come to an end and I am glad to be back home! I am not going to give you a full report on conference this week, but I do want to tell you about my favorite parts of the week. I love having the opportunity to catch up with old and new friends. Some of us only get together at conference events, so we only see each other a couple of times each year. Ben and I have a group of people that go to a movie one night each year during conference…except we didn’t make it this year. I always enjoy the service of commissioning and ordination. I always have at least one or two friends who are being recognized this way. This year, my friend Carolyn Roy was ordained. In fact, the best part of conference was the sermon at that worship service, given by the Rev. Dr. Timothy Tennent, from Asbury Theological Seminary. He spoke to the ordinands and to all of us, calling us to leadership for Christ and to hope, instead of fear. The full quote I referred to above says, “I’m not lamenting that we are in a time of lament. It is always a time of hope! Lament is the mother of hope.” While food prices rise and gas prices fluctuate and the economy’s invisible recovery continues, it is tempting to spend our time and energy in lament. Dr. Tennent’s reminder that we as the people of God are a people of hope was an extremely encouraging word. I only wish we had been able to hear it at the beginning of conference, instead of at the end. I think it might have changed our whole time there for the better.

Thoughts for Good Friday

In the words of Fred Pratt Green:

To mock your reign, O dearest Lord,
they made a crown of thorns;
set you with taunts along that road
from which no one returns.
They did not know, as we do now,
that glorious is your crown;
that thorns would flower upon your brow,
your sorrows heal our own.

In mock acclaim, O gracious Lord,
they snatched a purple cloak,
your passion turned, for all they cared,
into a soldier's joke.
They did not know, as we do now,
that though we merit blame
you will your robe of mercy throw
around our naked shame.

A sceptered reed, O patient Lord,
they thrust into your hand,
and acted out their grim charade
to its appointed end.
They did not know, as we do now,
though empires rise and fall,
your Kingdom shall not cease to grow
till love embraces all.

Listen

I give up

Apparently blogging through Lent was not so much a good idea. I don't know if I'm too busy, or too distracted, or if maybe this blog's time has expired.
I'm a little disappointed, but not too much. There's a lot going on, and most of it good, and maybe I'm just channeling my energies elsewhere. I think it's time for this blog to evolve, and I just need to figure out where its going. Long theological musings about Christian seasons seem not to be the destination!
In the meantime, I'm still out there, reading blogs, if not writing. I've still gained a tremendous amount from this exercise, if not always what I thought I'd learn. And I'm happy about that--just unsure what's next.

Broccoli Slaw Salad thing

I made this salad/slaw thing this weekend, because I was craving it, and there was a conveniently scheduled picnic to go to. It got good reviews, so I thought I'd share!

Anne's Broccoli Slaw (or whatever you want to call it)
Ingredients

1 (16 ounce) package coleslaw mix or shredded broccoli (this can be hard to find here)
1 head fresh broccoli, cut into florets (or one bag of precut broccoli florets)
seedless grapes (I don't measure; I don't even always remember these)
1/2 cup butter or margarine
2 (3 ounce) packages chicken flavored ramen noodles
2 cups of nuts (slivered almonds are great but expensive; I use cashews or pistachios most often, although I'd like to try it with our UMM peanuts)
1/3 cup Splenda measure, or 1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar (I use unfiltered apple cider vinegar from Trader Joe's; it still has some sweetness from the apples)
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon low-sodium soy sauce

Directions

In a large bowl, toss together the coleslaw mix, broccoli, and grapes. Set aside.
Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Crumble the ramen noodles into the skillet, and mix with the nuts. Sprinkle the seasoning packets over all. Cook and stir until noodles and nuts are toasted, about 8 minutes.
In a jar with a tight fitting lid, combine the Splenda, vinegar, oil and soy sauce. Seal, and shake vigorously to blend.
Just before serving, combine the slaw mixture with the nuts and noodles. Pour the dressing over all, and stir briefly to coat.
For picnics or other events, you can make the dressing and season the nut/noodle mixture ahead of time. Just combine it all at the last minute. The vinegar in the dressing will immediately start to wilt the vegetables, so you really don't want to dress it until the last minute.

This is not particularly good for you, but it is really good! If anyone comes up with a healthier variation, I'd love to know.

When it isn't Lent...on Sundays

Warning to Ann Street readers: this will look suspiciously like next week's Chimes article. Spoiler alert!
On February 11, 2011, there was a small electrical fire in our church sanctuary. Eric discovered it early and called the fire department right away, and then he called me. I was in Raleigh with Ben on an early Valentine's Day date and errand-running spree, and was surprised, honestly, but how much grief I felt. Of course, at that time all I knew was that there had been a fire, and not the extent of it.
Since then, we've kept busy. We temporarily moved the offices to the fellowship hall for a week or so, we've worshiped in the fellowship hall for the last several weeks, and the sanctuary building has been filled with noise and people working. We've installed a new alarm system, made extensive repairs to the building's wiring, and had contractors in to restore the sanctuary's floor and walls. A professional fire-damage cleaning company has been in a couple of times to do their part, the carpet has been replaced in the sanctuary, and our trustee chair has spent more time in the office than I have, probably, overseeing the work (thanks, George!).
Finally, this week, after six weeks of work, we were able to call in the Altar Guild and begin to put the sanctuary back together. On Wednesday afternoon, when the pew cushions were back in place and the curtain around the choir loft had been replaced, the altar was properly "dressed" for communion this week, and all the hymnals, Bibles, pencils, and envelopes had been returned to their places in the pew racks, I went in for just a moment in the quiet, and was moved to tears, just a little.
I had not realized how much grief I had over the fire, compounded by the stress of the last several weeks. And I had not realized how much it hurt my feelings to have had the sanctuary "naked" during the repairs. The cushions, carpet, and basically paper or fabric came out of the sanctuary for repair or replacement within the first few days. The altar cross and candlesticks were cleaned and stored in the Heritage Room, and despite the beautiful windows, which were thankfully undamaged, the sanctuary looked a bit desolate. I thought I'd been able to be very practical about all this, until I saw it all "dressed up" for worship again.
I'm really looking forward to this Sunday's worship. By Thursday afternoon, we'd passed all the necessary inspections and were permitted to occupy the building again, and within 30 minutes had our first visitors. Sunday, we will celebrate our first worship services back in the sanctuary, and I expect it will be a true celebration, and a reminder to us that while Lent is often a season of sacrifice and reflection, Sunday is always a little Easter celebration. This weekend we will celebrate our own rebirth!
And if I cry a little again, so be it. They are tears of joy.

Everyone should read this

Click here.

Some other thoughts on Lent

Each year after Christmas, I begin the search for material for my Tuesday morning Bible study group for Lent.
This year's search was fruitless.
We have ended up revisiting a great book we enjoyed a few years ago (On the Edge of the Crowd by James Sargent). The premise is that we are reading letters written by Eli, who was on the fringes of the movement around Jesus. It's pretty entertaining, especially given that I just preached on Nicodemus--what does it mean to be a part of the crowd?
I did find some sort of random Lenten-ness:
From NEUE magazine, an article on fasting from the self-censoring and self-judging voice in our head. I was with them right until the end.
From Paraclete Press, from whom I occasionally find wonderful things: a drive to write 1,000,000,000 letters to God on Facebook.
Still on the fence about that one.

The things I think about

Are many and varied...
I've been reading some of the commentary on Rob Bell's new book (guess I should actually read the book itself) and wondering about what universalism is. For example, most Methodists would agree that it is possible, and even God's desire, for all people to enter heaven. Does that make us universalists? And then there are the theological arguments about Jesus' "sheep of another pasture" and "no one comes to the Father except through me."
I told my Bible study group today that our job as Christians in regard to other people is to point them in the direction of God and help them move a little closer in God's direction. This is said intentionally knowing that there is a member of that group who is new to her current understanding of Jesus, and has that all tangled up with her recovery from alcoholism, and just wants everyone to know what she knows...convert's zeal to the Nth degree. There's another member who sometimes feels badly, like she's not doing all she can...hopefully they can both have some peace in that description.
Here's a link to a Relevant Magazine article about the Rob Bell issue.

2nd Sunday of Lent

Today was (hopefully) the last Sunday of our sojourn in the fellowship hall. Although all the work is not completed (yet), we have high hopes that we will be in the sanctuary on Sunday the 27th.
It hasn't so much felt like Lent on Sunday mornings, perhaps because we have no paraments, no purple to remind me, at least not in the fellowship hall. And although we tend to conform to the lectionary most of the time, the gospel for this morning didn't feel...Lent-y.
Here's my sermon on John 3:1-17
I think it’s fair to say that Eric and I have spent more than our fair share of time with death lately. We had funerals two Saturdays in a row and we’ve spent this week with another dear friend whom we don’t expect to be around very much longer. Death stinks.
For all that as Christians we believe in resurrection, we still grieve at death, and rightly so. In the face of death, all the questions we have about God’s goodness and God’s love come up. Why this person, or that person? Why does one person die suddenly, and another after a long illness? What about accidents and disasters, God? What about Japan and Libya? How could a loving God allow all this to happen?
These are timeless questions, really. God’s people have been asking these questions from very early on, questions about why the world isn’t perfect for us, why death is inevitable, why suffering happens and especially why is happens to us. A careful (or even a casual) reading of the Bible shows that, for some reason we don’t understand, bad things simply do happen—and for us, faith means believing that God’s love surrounds us all the time, even when bad things are happening.
And maybe that’s why I’m grateful that today is LOGOS Sunday, and the kids are sharing scripture with us today in the 11am service. Today’s passage reminds us of how great God’s love is, and our LOGOS students have studied John 3:16 and will share some of their thoughts on what John 3:16 means for us. God loved the world so much that he gave his one and only Son so that everyone who believes in him will have eternal life.
One of the reasons I find this passage meaningful is that Nicodemus’ story is kind of complicated, and let’s face it, life is more often complicated than simple, isn’t it? The writer of John tells us that Nicodemus was a Pharisee and a leader of the Jews. It makes sense, then, that he comes to see Jesus at night, under cover of darkness, because Nicodemus had a lot to lose.
It was risky for Nicodemus to be seen with Jesus at all, because in John, they are among the chief naysayers and persecutors of Jesus. Now, we have talked about the Pharisees before: they were very faithful Jews, but their faithful adherence to the law and the prophets seemed to leave something to be desired. They understood fear of God, but not God’s love, at least not the way Jesus wanted them to understand it.
Nicodemus understood something else, according to today’s reading. He understood that Jesus was teaching something new about God, and that the signs—miracles—that accompanied his teaching proved that Jesus had God’s favor, that God’s presence rested with him. Nicodemus was willing to believe this about Jesus…but not in daylight, at least not yet. Not where the others could see.
Nicodemus had questions for Jesus…but he didn’t understand the answer. To be fair, Jesus’ response to Nicodemus was a bit ambiguous: the word translated “from above,” also could mean “anew” or “again.” With our two thousand years of perspective, we can say, of course, Jesus is speaking in metaphor, which he is wont to do. Sometimes it confuses us, but we’re used to it. Nicodemus, on the other hand, was probably not used to Jesus’ habit of using figurative language, and he took Jesus’ meaning literally. “Born again? But I’m a grown man, Jesus, surely you are not saying that I must return to my mother’s womb.” Can’t you just imagine Jesus rolling his eyes and trying again: “No, Nicodemus. I mean a spiritual rebirth, one that connects you with God’s love. Because God has such great love for the world—a world that does not itself love God—that God’s Son will die so that the very world that hates God can come to love him. God’s Son comes not to condemn the world, but to save it. ”
It’s hard to imagine what impact these words had on Nicodemus. What we know is, frankly, not much: Nicodemus left Jesus that night, and as far as we know, never came back. According to John, he pops up two more times in Jesus’ story: once in a sort of ambiguous attempt to get the Pharisees and temple police to leave Jesus alone, and then with Joseph of Arimathea at the end of Jesus’ life, when Nicodemus helped Joseph carry Jesus’ body to the tomb for burial. There’s not another story that tells about Nicodemus’ conversion or how Jesus convinced him of God’s love that transcended the law. Or even if Jesus convinced him. Somehow though, Jesus convinced us…
The love of God for God’s people is what makes our faith work. Our belief in God’s love is why we can make sense of the crucifixion, why we can believe in the resurrection, when we still don’t have an answer to so many of our questions, and we do still have so many questions. The other thing we have, though, at least according to John’s Jesus, is belief.
We don’t have to understand God’s love…we just have to believe it. Faith in this gospel is not a noun…it is not something we have, it is something that we do. Faith is not neat and clean here, not something that comes in a single interaction with Jesus. It is something we wrestle with, something that changes our lives a bit at a time, something that we grow into and share and have shared with us, something that shapes up more in the questions we ask than in having all the answers.
I think this may be what Nicodemus may have found threatening about Jesus’ teachings: to be a Pharisee was to have a sense that there could be guarantees, there could be a simple way to know that God’s favor was with them. God had given the laws, and intended for them to be followed. Follow them perfectly, and you would please God. It was not an easy plan, but it was a simple one. There’s security in a system like this; perhaps that’s why Nicodemus did not leave his life as a Pharisee and follow Jesus. We’re used to thinking of Jesus instantly transforming lives: Zaccheus, Matthew, the woman at the well. Jesus’ encounter with Nicodemus was less clear, less immediately powerful, less transformative, at least from what we can see. Jesus left Nicodemus with more questions than answers, and that can be frightening for any of us.
We are wired to want to know all the answers, to understand as much as we can of what is going on around us. Like Nicodemus, we find security in knowing just what is the right thing to do. But to believe in God’s love means that we don’t have all the answers, and we don’t have the security of following a prescriptive series of laws and knowing that alone will save us. God’s love is shared in relationships, and relationships are complicated.
It is in our relationship with God that we can ask the hard questions, like why an earthquake and a tsunami in Japan, why revolution in Libya? Where is God’s love when a parent of teenagers dies, when a grandmother develops a terminal illness, when life doesn’t go as we plan? Asking a question is not nearly as satisfying as thinking we know all the answers except for one thing.
God’s love meets us where we are. If faith is the exercise of belief, the practice of looking for God’s love, then our questions are where we meet God. I don’t know why God seems to choose not to intervene in our lives and in our crises sometimes. I don’t know why sometimes we feel that God does intervene, that a chance meeting or event seems later to be less random—something like a meeting having to be rescheduled due to illness, with the result being that there are people in an old sanctuary building to notice something’s amiss before a fire burns out of control. I don’t know why sometimes things like this happen, and other times they don’t.
What I do know, because I choose to believe that it is so, and because my relationship with God and the exercise of my faith in God tells me so, is that God’s love is always around us. I’ve seen it in the last month in three different families that each have surrounded a dying person with love. That love has caused them both to shed tears and to hold them back, to hold a hand or wipe a brow or whisper “I love you,” in the face of illness and death. I have to believe that in those moments, God’s love comes through us and gives us the grace that we need to sustain our confidence in heaven and our caring for one we love. God’s love meets us where we need it: right in the middle of our questions, doubts, and fears, as well as in our moments of joy and celebration, and in all the moments in between.
I have to wonder if Nicodemus was such a bad disciple after all. No, he didn’t lay aside his old life and take up a new one with Jesus. He didn’t evangelize Asia or lay the foundations for the spread of Christianity worldwide. He wasn’t a major early church figure, not a theologian or really a hero in any way. He was really a pretty ordinary guy, except for one thing. He took the risk of exploring faith outside the box he was raised with. He dared to question God’s love, and what he learned led him to take the bigger risk of honoring Jesus’ body after his death. While Nicodemus didn’t immediately respond to Jesus by saying that he wanted to be born again into God’s love, God’s love and grace worked on Nicodemus behind the scenes. There’s no other explanation for what he did in taking the risk of exploring what it means to believe in God, in being willing to ask the questions and wait on the answers.
As Christians, we sometimes fall into the trap of thinking that everyone has to have a major “lightbulb” experience with God. You know, the ones where the cartoon lightbulb turns on over your head, where you realize something about God that never seemed to connect with you before? When you get the answer to one of those persistent questions we ask of God? Peter had one of those moments, according to the Bible. So did (and do) many other people. I’m not sure Nicodemus ever did, and I am sure that Jesus did not expect Nicodemus to know all the answers. Instead, Nicodemus had some time to just consider the possibilities as to what life might look like if he were truly born from above.
And that is what faith really is. It’s not believing a list of propositions someone has written down. It’s not something you can write down on an index card and keep in your wallet, like a creed or a favorite Bible verse. It’s not something that simply overshadows us, taking away our doubts and leaving in its wake a sense of certainty in who God is and how God relates to us. Instead, faith is what we do when we explore the possibilities of what it means to believe that God loves us, and that God’s love is for the salvation of the world. Faith is at least as much something we live as it is something that we have; it is a relationship that takes work and involves give and take on both sides, and sometimes just takes off on its own.
Think for a moment about your friendships, just for fun. How many of you have a friend that you met and clicked with right away? Eric is fond of telling the story of how we came to be Ann Street’s pastors, and of our first meeting. Eric thought we were just getting to know each other; I had been told that I better make it work, because it would create a huge problem if Eric and I couldn’t get along. We didn’t know what would happen, but Ben and I met Eric for lunch one day, and it was clear within about 15 minutes that we would be fast friends. Someone asked us, that first Sunday here at Ann Street, how long we’d worked together. The answer was, about 5 days. Sometimes you just get a relationship like that. Sometimes it’s like that with God.
How many of you have a friend that you slowly grew into friendship with? My closest friend in the world, with the possible exception of my husband, is a woman whom I met in college. We were both sort of on the margins of a larger group of friends (we were in the same co-ed fraternity, which is a longer and more complicated story) and it took a while before we became close friends. Now we finish one another’s sentences, and I wouldn’t have married Ben if she hadn’t approved. And before too long, my approval will be sought on her new beau. (She’ll get it). We just grew into one another.
Our relationship with God is like both kinds of friendship. Mostly we grow into each other, but sometimes our relationship grows in quick leaps and bounds. Nicodemus was a slow grower, but that doesn’t mean he had no relationship with God. Peter and some of the other disciples seem to have clicked with Jesus immediately, and left all they had to follow him. That doesn’t mean that their kind of relationship with God is the only kind of relationship with God. Our relationship with God has room for questions, room for those sudden lightbulb insights, room to grow and change and deepen over time and in leaps and bounds, because the love of God is always there for us. Despite earthquake, tsunami, political unrest, death, illness, and every bad thing, God’s love surrounds us, waits for us, comforts us, calls us, meets us where we are.
Here we are.
Amen.