5 Minute Reflection #14.03: Why You Are Here

During the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said,  

Salt and Light

Let me tell you why you are here. You’re here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You’ve lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage. 

A City On A Hill

Here’s another way to put it: You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:13-16, The Message) 

• Be salt and light. Let your light shine.
• Share the good news. Don't hide it like a secret.
• Be open and generous with your lives.

That's why you are here.

5 Minute Reflection #14.01: A Perfect Day For A Funeral

Every once in a while the distinctions blur between symbols and the things they represent. Metaphors materialize and ordinary events take on transcendent meaning. I attended a funeral this morning. It was a perfect day for it - heavy snow showers, a blustery wind and bitter cold. Colorless buildings, roads, cars, and pedestrians were dimly seen through the falling snow under a canvas painted in shades of white and gray stretched from horizon to horizon. It was the kind of day that makes mourning easy. It was also Ash Wednesday, for Christians an observance and reminder of human mortality - ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken;for dust you are and to dust you will return. (Genesis 3:19 NIV)

Yet, we believe that this is not the end of the story. Although we live in the shadow of the winter and death, we look ahead with hope to the of end of winter, to the Resurrection and ultimately to a "new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade." (1 Peter 1:3-4)

My Mother The Pilgrim

My Mom was a many things to many people, but she was more things to me than she was to anybody else.  She was a bundle of contradictions, at times in a deep and protracted struggle with her disappointments, at other times miraculously generous, going far, far out of her way to help and inspire others.  She was a child of the Roaring 20s, a teenager of the Great Depression and a young adult of the Greatest Generation.  She grew up in a world that told strong, smart women like her, with great and varied aptitudes for science, math, arts, and letters, that she should learn shorthand and bookkeeping.  After World War II, she left her familiar surroundings of Northeast Ohio and made it on her own in graphic arts in Chicago, and in staffing and recruiting in New York, where she became a Mother.

We moved to Ohio for a while, to live with my grandparents.  She continued to work in staffing and recruiting in Canton and Cleveland.  Somewhere along the way, her pilgrimage took a different direction.  I don't know whether it was a conversion or an awakening, or what she would call it, but it was a clear turning point.  She quit the personnel business and went to work for the First Presbyterian Church of Akron, while also becoming heavily involved with the North Canton Baptist Temple.  Soon, we moved back to New York, where she went to work for the United Church Board for World Ministries, then the Pension Board of the American Baptist Convention, and finally the First Presbyterian Church of Brooklyn, whence she retired after 16 years of service.

Throughout her journey, her vocation, avocations, ideas and attitudes had the hallmarks of a pilgrim's progress. She believed in sacrifice, providing more for me and for others than for herself.  She believed in heroes, famous and obscure, of the world stage, of the silver screen and of everyday life, from Dwight Eisenhower, to the characters played by John Wayne, to her brother Ray and her uncle Tom.  She knew exile.  In broken relationships, untapped talents, and evaporated dreams, she knew what it was like to live far apart from one's mortal aspirations.  She was passionate, especially when she became interested in a cause.  She was passionate about doing the right thing, and doing the right thing the right way.  She believed in justice, inclusion, and equality. In my earliest recollection of a conversation about race, she taught me not to follow my Grandmother's example when, speaking from ignorance, she used the "N word" to refer to a neighbor's household help.

Ultimately, my Mom's pilgrimage was grounded in inspiration. This was hard to see for those who only knew her in her later years, which were often times of suffering and confusion, but I know the spark that was there before and that never went out.  She believed in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth and in his Son, our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.  I can think of nothing that would please her more than to acknowledge this truth.  She was inspired by the words of the scriptures, the great preachers of the Gospel, and the hymns.  For her, the reality and mystery of the Trinity could not be better described than the words of three hymns. Of God the Father, in Martin Luther's words, "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, a bulwark never failing!"  Of God the Son, in Joseph Scriven's words, "What A Friend We Have In Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!" And perhaps most deeply, of God the Holy Spirit, through the words of Edwin Hatch:

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with Thee I will one will,
To do and to endure.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
Blend all my soul with Thine,
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with Thy fire divine.

Breathe on me, breath of God,
So shall I never die,
But live with Thee the perfect life
Of Thine eternity.

Mom, you have long ago departed this imperfect life. You pilgrimage here is complete. Now you are with Him in Eternity.  May those you left behind, run as good a race, as noble a pilgrimage as you did.  Thank you, Mom!  We will see you soon.