calling

Catching People

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Catching People” Luke 5:1-11

When it comes to vocation, we tend to think of people like me—clergy. We work through years of graduate studies. We learn biblical languages. We devote our lives to preaching the gospel. We live to lead churches and seek ways to be good news for our communities.

When it comes to vocation, we think of people who live the monastic life. They join religious communities and dedicate themselves to a holy purpose. Like Mother Teresa, they tend the poorest of the poor in slums around the world. Or, like Julian of Norwich, they live a cloistered life, apart from the public. They commit their days to prayer, contemplation, worship, and devotion to God.

When it comes to vocation, our thoughts turn to great Christian thinkers throughout history. We remember C.S. Lewis, who during the Second World War offered spiritual comfort to the people of Great Britain with faithful fireside chats, broadcast by BBC Radio. Or we think of Presbyterian author Ann Lamott, whose wry essays and autobiographical books about the life of faith offer inspiration and a healthy dose of humor.

When it comes to vocation, we don’t typically think of ourselves. We don’t have seminary degrees. We’ve never studied Hebrew and Greek, nor would we want to. Our lives are not cloistered. We don’t have the luxury of praying 24/7. We don’t inspire the worldwide web with our latest podcast. We don’t write books that rocket to the top of the New York Times bestseller list. We are who we are. Don’t talk to us about vocation.

Jesus might want to expand our understanding of vocation this morning. Take Simon Peter for example. In those days when you did what your father did, Peter didn’t have a priestly or scribal pedigree. He was a fisherman, someone who spent his time casting a dragnet into the Sea of Galilee, plucking from the depths a fishy harvest that provided for his family. He must have been pretty good at it, too—successful enough to own his own boats and nets, successful enough to have partners in his trade. Peter had the sort of everyday concerns that we deal with: taxes to pay, social conflicts between rival factions, and the political chaos that was first century Israel. If you asked anyone in the crowd that gathered on the lakeshore that morning to point to the person most likely to receive a special invitation to join Jesus in ministry, I doubt that anyone would have pointed to Simon Peter and his partners. But Jesus thought otherwise.

Jesus’ invitation for our lives often comes when we, like Peter, are minding our own business and caught up in everyday busyness. One day, we are sitting in our office when we read an advertisement printed on a brown paper lunch bag. It says, “Imagine if you couldn’t read this message.” We think about how much we love to read, how important it is for everything from school to work, from learning about current events to paying bills. Or One Thanksgiving, we take our aging mother to a community dinner. At the meal, we are impressed. The food is great and plentiful. The atmosphere is friendly and family like. An army of helpers make the dinner a warm and welcoming event. Or one year, we stop on our daily walk around the village to watch the IPW at work. We marvel at the teamwork – folks harvesting ice, moving blocks, guiding them into place, and slinging slush. All that volunteer effort makes an Ice Palace fit for a music legend. Our opportunities to serve find us all the time, whether we want them to or not.

Simon Peter’s story suggests that we can be resistant to our calling. Peter resisted the invitation to put out into deep water and lower his nets. Who could blame him? The man had plied his dragnets all night long without anything to show for it, and he knew that, this late in the day, fish in the Sea of Galilee would retreat into the cool depths, far from the reach of his nets. When Peter said to Jesus, “If you say so, I will let down the nets,” it sounded less like the fisherman was eagerly jumping to it and more like he was merely humoring the Lord. Even the abundant catch didn’t convince Peter to sign on as a disciple. It left him feeling inadequate and ill-equipped. On his knees in the bottom of the boat, amid the slippery, silvery catch, all Peter could stammer were all the reasons he couldn’t do the job, “Lord, you got the wrong guy, I am a sinful man.”

We, too, can think of every good reason to say, “No!” when the opportunity to love our neighbors and serve God’s Kingdom finds us. We are tired. We are too busy. We have other plans. If we say “yes” to Jesus, we might have to say “no” to something else, and we have FOMO—fear of missing out on what is just around the corner. We think we don’t have what it takes. We wonder what the neighbors might say. We’re just too sinful for all this vocation stuff. In some ways, all those excuses and worries have an element of truth. But Jesus isn’t looking for perfection. Jesus is looking for commitment, a humble “yes” to giving it a try.

When Simon Peter moved past his resistance to Jesus’ purpose for his life, he would become a blessing to the world around him. Peter’s abundant catch on the Sea of Galilee was an anticipation of the many, many people that Peter would help as he stepped up to his role as a disciple. Peter would bless Aeneas with mobility after years of paralysis. He would raise the disciple Dorcas to life after her sudden death. He would welcome even the Gentiles to God’s love by baptizing the Roman Centurion Cornelius and his family.

We, too, when we move past our resistance and dare to commit to the opportunity to serve God and neighbor, are a blessing to others. That paper bag invitation to consider the importance of literacy prompts us to help people discover the joy of reading. We tutor learning disabled adults who slipped through the cracks in public school. We mentor refugee kids who have escaped hunger or terror to find a new life in a new land. That Thanksgiving community meal inspires us to get involved. The next Thanksgiving, the whole family is making pies, serving meals, and sharing hospitality with neighbors that we didn’t even know we had. That pause at the Ice Palace in our daily walk leads to decades of commitment to the IPW. From sketching next year’s palace on a cocktail napkin to monitoring ice on Lake Flower, from working alongside our neighbors to delighting in the joy of visitors, we become a blessing.

Simon Peter’s story reminds us that in saying “yes” to Jesus we get blessed, even as we are a blessing. Peter would find a remarkable friendship with Jesus, who accepted and loved him just as he was. Peter would become first among the apostles, beloved by the early church and treasured by the tradition. Peter would find meaning and purpose that he had never dared to imagine, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that because he joined his purpose to the Lord’s mission, the world would never be the same.

We can trust that as we say “yes” to our opportunities to serve God and neighbor, we too will be blessed. My choice to tutor refugee children in Virginia would change how I looked at the world. It would set me on a path to support other refugees from Washington, DC to Chicago to Saranac Lake. In all those relationships, I assure you that I have been more blessed by others than they have been by me. I am certain that if we check in with our friends who volunteer at the Community Lunchbox, the Wednesday Community Supper, or the Thanksgiving Dinner at the Adult Center, they will wax poetic about the personal blessing of their commitment. Likewise, if you take time to inquire of any of our Ice Palace Workers, they will regale you with tales of laughter, community, and joy that have blessed them beyond measure in their years of service.

Jesus set Peter’s feet on the path of catching people. But on that fateful day on the lakeshore, it was Peter who got caught—caught up in God’s purpose for our world. When it comes to vocation, we tend to think of clergy people, monks and nuns, scholars and authors. But Simon Peter might encourage us to look in the mirror. Jesus has an invitation for us, my friends. He would like to catch us. May we say “yes” to his calling.

Resources

Abraham Smith. “Commentary on Luke 5:1-11” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 9, 2025. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-51-11-8

Pamela Cooper-White. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 5:1-11” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke Volume 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Ronald J. Allen. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 5:1-11” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke Volume 1. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Ronald J. Allen. “Commentary on Luke 5:1-11” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 10, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-after-epiphany-3/commentary-on-luke-51-11-4

Luke 5:1-11

5 Once while Jesus was standing beside the Lake of Gennesaret and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, 2 he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gotten out of them and were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. 4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” 5 Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” 6 When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to burst. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. 8 But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’s knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” 9 For he and all who were with him were astounded at the catch of fish that they had taken, 10 and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” 11 When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

Image Source: https://www.adirondackdailyenterprise.com/news/local-news/2025/02/celebrate-good-times-come-on/

Jackie Carl Gets a New Name

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Jackie Carl Gets a New Name” Isaiah 9:2-7 and Psalm 22:9-10

for Tillie Blackbear

“Jeezum Crow! That boy has gotten up to a lot of mischief over the years, but this takes the cake.” It was Ruth Underhill. Pastor Bob had gotten an emergency call, summoning him to Ruth’s farm, and it hadn’t taken much imagination to surmise that the “emergency” was related to Ruth’s grandson Jackie Carl. The boy just seemed to be made for trouble.

At the farm, Bob wasn’t surprised to see that Tubby Mitchell had also been summoned to respond to the crisis. Tubby sat at the kitchen table, studying his cup of black coffee, and while Ruth poured Bob his own cup, she launched into Jackie Carl’s latest escapade. It had involved the outside brick wall of the high school gym and a lot of spray paint. To Jackie Carl’s credit, the graffiti was not profane, just rude and wildly inappropriate.

“You name it, I’ve tried it,” Ruth continued, “Counseling, tough love, heart-to-hearts, prayer, bribery.” She threw up her hands. “Nothing works. Nothing!”

Now Bob was studying his coffee cup as assiduously as Tubby was. In the silence that followed, Bob could hear the kitchen clock ticking. Bob thought about all the trouble that Jackie Carl had gotten into over the years. When the boy was only in second grade, Bob suspected him of swiping the special comb that Eugenia Bergstrom used every Sunday to straighten the fringe on the altar cloth. An exhaustive search had eventually found it, tangled in the mane of a stuffed lion down in the Sunday school room. Then, there had been the time in middle school when Jackie Carl had blown out the exhaust system in his school bus by wedging an enormous potato into the tailpipe. Lately, Bob had heard about fights—two black eyes for the boy who had called Jackie Carl a red-headed loser. When Bob thought about it, the only time he’d seen Jackie Carl truly happy in the past year had been on the lacrosse field, the teenager’s lanky, freckled legs dashing down the field at a blistering pace, cradling the ball, dodging defenders, and launching a shot with a fierce intensity that made even the most steadfast of keepers shrink in fear.

Ruth wasn’t done. “I blame it on his father. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in five years. Five years! At least when he was in prison, we knew where he was. Why my daughter took up with him I’ll never understand. You know, the one time he did visit, he spent the whole time smoking cigarettes on the front porch and staring at his phone. He may have named the boy after himself, but he has never shown a lick of interest in the child.”

Tubby sadly nodded along. Tubby had been thinking, too. He remembered meeting the six-year-old Jackie Carl, all knobby knees, freckles, and carroty hair. The boy had called Tubby out of his grief for his dead son, and the two had forged a special bond as the boy tagged along to fish, camp, and hunt. Each morning of those trips, Tubby and Jackie Carl would begin the day by praying together the Haudenosaunee prayer of thanksgiving with its beautiful celebration of the unity of creation, “Now our minds are one.” For Tubby and his wife Irene, the boy had helped to heal the hole left in their hearts when Todd died in Iraq.

Tubby thought about himself, too, he’d lost his parents at a young age in a car accident, casualties of those days when addiction had been so prevalent on the reservation. Tubby knew there was a good chance that he would have ended up as wild and unsettled as Jackie Carl if it hadn’t been for his grandfather. The legendary wilderness guide had driven north to the reservation from his cabin outside the village and taken Tubby home with him. Tubby’s grandfather had always made sure that Tubby knew who he was, Tionatakwente of the Kanien’kehaka people, the great eastern door of the Iroquois confederacy, but Tubby suspected that Jackie Carl had no idea who he was. Tubby and Bob locked eyes across the table and an unspoken agreement passed between the two men.

Bob leaned forward, “How can we help, Ruth?”

This unlocked a shower of tears from Ruth, who could run her dairy farm with an iron fist but couldn’t tame her grandson. Between sobs, Ruth stammered, “I don’t know I don’t I don’t I don’t know.”

Tubby sighed and reached across the table to lay his hand on Ruth’s, “I’ve got an idea, Ruth. Let me talk to Irene about it.”

When Tubby opened the door to the cabin, he was greeted by the scent of balsam and baking. He had cut a six-foot Christmas tree and brought it home where Irene had worked her magic, winding it with lights, hanging ornaments, and topping it with an enormous God’s Eye that their son Tod had long ago made in Sunday school—bright yarn was woven around crossed sticks to remind them of God’s watchful care and protection. Irene was pulling a tray of Christmas cookies from the oven. Her cheeks were flushed and her long hair, bound by a red ribbon the nape of her neck, was shot through with gray.

Tubby leaned in to steal a too-hot cookie. He remembered the first time he saw Irene up on the reservation. He had known immediately that she would be his wife. Tubby wasn’t sure what his grandfather had said to the Clan Mother to convince her it would be ok for Irene to marry his grandson, but it worked. Their wedding day, when he had seen her in her ribbon skirt, shawl, and beaded moccasins, had been one of the happiest moments of his life. Tubby blew on his cookie.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, venturing a cautious bite.

Irene raised her eyebrows. “Thinking? That’s always trouble.”

Tubby nodded, “It’s about Jackie Carl.”

Irene smiled indulgently. “Ah. More trouble.”

Tubby started again, “Well, it’s not just about Jackie Carl. It’s about Todd, too.” Irene’s brow creased, thinking about the beautiful son they had lost in Iraq. She waited for her husband to continue.

Tubby searched for the right words. “Irene, maybe kinship isn’t just about blood. Jackie Carl needs us. Maybe in ways that Todd never did. Ruth Underhill, she needs our help. Maybe God is calling us to something new.”

One by one, Irene transferred cookies to the cooling rack, plying her spatula until the baking sheet was empty. Christmas always made Irene think of Todd. Could there be that kind of space in her heart for someone else, especially someone who was so troubled? She thought of her own parents and elders on the reservation. They told long ago stories of the healing of families that followed times of war. Beloved ones lost in battle left a hole that was sometimes filled by others—even prisoners of war—who were adopted into the clan. Still today, it wasn’t unusual to expand families in unexpected ways.

Irene turned the thought over in her mind and picked up a cookie. She took a bite. Maybe the question shouldn’t be why but why not. Why not a hot-headed teen with fiery red hair? Irene put down her spatula, “Tionatakwente, are you asking if we should adopt Jackie Carl into the clan?”

Tubby looked expectant.

Irene nodded, “Well, I’d better call my Auntie. Lord knows, that boy sure could use a new name.”

Jackie Carl was no stranger to the res. As a boy at the Powwow, he had relished eating stew with thick chunks of venison, made tender by slow cooking. His small feet had shuffled along with the men as they moved to the rhythm of the Thunder Dance. Each year right after school let out, Tubby would drive them north to the St. Lawrence to fish for enormous Muskies that lurked in weeds and promised the fight of a lifetime. Jackie Carl had learned to love lacrosse on the res, the beauty of precision passing, the crack of stick against stick, the cry of “Aho!” when the ball swished into the back of the net. Last summer, Jackie Carl had helped Tubby as the firekeeper at the sweat, carefully passing super-heated rocks with a pitchfork from the fire to the pit at the center of the lodge.

Sometimes on the reservation, Jackie Carl forgot. He forgot that his father didn’t love him. He forgot that his mother had left him. He forgot that he felt angry and rootless on most days, despite his grandmother’s efforts to provide what his parents could not.

Jackie Carl had never been on the reservation for the Midwinter Ceremony. The five days of praying, eating, dancing, and games conflicted with school, but this year, Ruth Underhill made an exception, sending him north in the back seat of Tubby’s Kingcab. Irene had been cooking for the feast for days: golden rounds of Bannock, sweet cornmeal pudding, roasted squash mixed with butter and maple syrup, and vats of potato and macaroni salad. Just thinking about it made Jackie Carl’s stomach growl. On that first day, they had pulled up in front of an inauspicious looking ranch house. Tubby put the car in park, and Irene turned to the boy. “This is my Auntie’s house. She’s the Clan Mother. Are you ready?” Jackie Carl nodded, “Yep,” and they went inside.

A teen about Jackie Carl’s age answered the door, showed them where to leave their shoes, and pointed them toward a closed door, saying only, “They’re waiting.” Inside, it took Jackie Carl’s eyes a minute to adjust to the dark. Windows had been covered with blankets and the only light came from a low fire that burned in the fireplace. This must have been what it felt like in the longhouse, Jackie Carl thought. A circle of Kanien’kehaka people sat on the floor, but just enough room had been left for the three of them. Jackie Carl, Tubby, and Irene took a seat.

 At the head of the circle sat the oldest woman that Jackie Carl had ever seen. “Auntie,” Irene spoke up, “we bring you a gift.” She held out a pouch of tobacco, which was passed around the circle to the waiting matriarch. She gave it an appreciative sniff before mixing it with red willow bark and packing it into the bowl of a medicine pipe. The lit pipe slowly passed from neighbor to neighbor around the circle. To Jackie Carl, the silence of that room felt like an eternity, but for Tubby and Irene it felt like they were settling back into the ancient rhythms of their ancestors.

Finally, the Auntie spoke in Mohawk, then in English for Jackie Carl’s benefit. “What is it you seek, my children?”

Irene answered, “We’ve come to claim the right of adoption. The hole that was left in our clan when Todd was killed needs to be filled. We claim Jackie Carl, that he might have all the rights and status that would have been Todd’s.” There were sounds of affirmation around the circle, followed again by an appreciative silence.

At last, with what might have been a twinkle in her eye, the Auntie said, “It’s about time, Irene. What took you so long?”

The Auntie turned her bright eyes on Jackie Carl, “And what do you have to say about it, young man?”

Before she had even finished speaking, Jackie Carl was nodding, “Yes,” so filled with feeling that he could not find the words or trust his voice. Jackie Carl looked to Tubby and Irene, their faces filled with love, their eyes brimming with tears. Tubby placed a hand on Jackie Carl’s shoulder and for the first time in his life, the boy felt like he had a Dad.

“Very well!” the Auntie continued, “You need a name. A real name.” As if the name Jackie Carl had only been a placeholder for the true life that was about to unfold.

They sat once more in silence. The pipe was filled and passed around the circle again. After a long while, the Auntie spoke. Pointing first to the orange glow of the coals on the hearth and then to the carroty color of Jackie Carl’s hair, she said. “You, my child, are Atsila. That means fire.”

An appreciative chorus of “Aho” and laughter greeted her proclamation. “Atsila,” Jackie Carl tried the sound of his new name. It felt like the moment when the Muskie hits your line and you know you’ve hooked a big one. “Atsila.” It felt like the instant your lacrosse shot slips past the keeper and into the cage. “Atsila.” It felt like the sleepy peace that comes when your belly is full of Bannock, venison stew, and cornmeal pudding. “Atsila.” It felt like home.

Isaiah 9:2-7

The people who walked in darkness
    have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
    on them light has shined.
3 You have multiplied exultation;
    you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
    as with joy at the harvest,
    as people exult when dividing plunder.
4 For the yoke of their burden
    and the bar across their shoulders,
    the rod of their oppressor,
    you have broken as on the day of Midian.
5 For all the boots of the tramping warriors
    and all the garments rolled in blood
    shall be burned as fuel for the fire.
6 For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders,
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 Great will be his authority,
    and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
    He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time onward and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Psalm 22:9-10

Yet it was you who took me from the womb;
    you kept me safe on my mother’s breast.
10 On you I was cast from my birth,
    and since my mother bore me you have been my God.

Photo by Cody Hammer on Pexels.com

Shepherd of the People

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Shepherd of the People” 2 Sam. 5:1-5, 9-10

It took me a decade after my undergraduate degree, to figure out that God was calling me to seminary. Raised in a conservative Baptist tradition that denied the spiritual authority of women, I had never seen someone like me preach or teach adult Sunday School until I was a young adult, out church shopping in Washington, DC. I’ll never forget the Sunday morning when I saw Associate Pastor Alice Anderson on the chancel of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church. I had an instant sense of kinship and recognition, as if God were saying, “Hey, have I got a job for you.”

Even so, when I started my Master of Divinity program, I wasn’t willing to commit to being a pastor. I had been involved in New York Avenue’s ministry to homeless neighbors, so I thought God might be calling me to church-based mission and outreach. When I was required to do field studies in my second year of seminary, working part-time in a church for a year, those plans took a different turn.

I found a great church with an active homeless shelter for my field studies. There I imagined I could learn a lot about the spiritual and practical needs of vulnerable neighbors while checking that whole church-experience-thing off my list of degree requirements. I had never even spoken in a worship service before I served Lincoln Park Presbyterian Church, but suddenly, I was expected to teach the adult Sunday School class, lead worship every Sunday, and take turns preaching. That would have made the heads of my long-ago Baptist Sunday School teachers spin.

It happened after my first sermon. I wish I could tell you what scripture I chose or what I said, but I can tell you that it was delivered in a voice that folks had to lean forward to hear. Somehow, it connected. My senior pastor and the committee that was mentoring me told me that I needed to rethink my calling. “Sure,” they said, “you could do a lot of good as an outreach worker in a non-profit or a large church, but have you really thought about how much good you could do as a pastor?” They pointed to the sermon I had delivered and said, “Joann, we believe you are meant to preach the gospel.”

Our reading from Second Samuel describes the affirmation that David received from the people, an invitation to kingship that would lead to forty years of national leadership. Seven years earlier, King Saul and his son Jonathan had died in battle with the Philistines. While the southern tribes of Judah and Simeon had acclaimed David their King, the ten northern tribes had limped along with Saul’s remaining son Ishbaal as king until he was assassinated, sending the north into two years of political chaos.

It had been more than two decades since God had instructed Samuel to anoint the shepherd boy David.  David had patiently waited. Even when Saul’s affection for him shifted to jealousy, rage, and death threats, David had refrained from asserting his claim to the monarchy. He had been unwilling to divide the nation and unwilling to bear arms against his former mentor Saul, who long ago had also been anointed as the Messiah.

Yahweh had chosen David as the future king, David knew in himself the gifts for leadership and courage, but would the people agree? The ten northern tribes had been so closely aligned with Saul, could they accept David as Messiah and king?

Often, we need other people to affirm our gifts. We may have a sense of our purpose. We may have some ideas about what we are good at, how our natural abilities and our interests bring us a sense of proficiency, achievement, and even joy. But it’s when others sit up and take notice that it begins to all come together for us.

Today’s reading describes such a moment in the life of David. As all the tribes came to Hebron, they affirmed their kinship, naming David their own flesh and blood. They also acknowledged his gifts for leadership, a leadership unlike Saul’s. While the late king had ruled over the people, David had served with the people.

David had “led them out” to battle and brought them back to safety. The Hebrew verb for “lead out” יָצָא was commonly used to describe a general leading an army, but it was also used for a shepherd leading a flock out to seek fresh grazing and clean water. Through the political chaos that followed Saul’s death, the northern tribes had seen from a distance that David was doing what was needed to lead the people of Judah. David was both a shrewd military strategist who kept the Philistines at bay and a provident sovereign, who tended to the humanitarian needs of his people.

The elders of Israel saw and named David’s gifts. They affirmed the long-ago anointing that David had received at the hands of the Prophet Samuel. A covenant was made between David and the people. The oil of anointing was again poured out on the thirty-year-old David. Yahweh and the people saw that David had what it would take to be king of Israel.

This practice of seeing and naming the gifts of others is authentically biblical. Jesus recognized Peter’s gifts for leadership and said, “Upon this rock I will build my church” (Matt. 16:18). When sister Martha wanted Mary back in the kitchen, Jesus affirmed Mary’s gifts as a disciple, saying, “Mary has chosen the best part, which shall not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:42). The Apostle Paul acknowledged not only the spiritual leadership of Prisca and Aquila but also the faithful risks they took to save his very life (Rom. 16:3-4). Like those saints in the Lincoln Park Presbyterian Church, who challenged me to change my path and pastor a church, faithful people have long noticed and named the ways that God is at work in others, inviting us to use our abilities in service to God’s Kingdom.

We can grow in our ability to notice and name the gifts and abilities of others. Dr. Becky Bailey, award-winning author and educator, encourages teachers to notice and name ten positive behaviors in their grade school classrooms daily. It’s simple habit to form. “Emily, you scooted over so Jon would have more space in the circle. That was helpful!” “Jason, you shared your snack with Robin when she forgot hers. That was kind. Thank you!” Noticing and naming is a win/win discipline. Children are affirmed in their abilities, and just by listening to their teacher’s example, children learn to notice and name the gifts of their peers.

Even if we haven’t had awesome teachers or guardians who practiced this sort of everyday affirmation, there is hope for us yet. Becky Bailey says that we can cultivate the habit for ourselves. Try starting the day with ten pennies in your right pocket. Then pay attention, noticing and naming the good things you see in others. For each person you affirm, slip a penny from the right pocket to the left. If you aren’t sure what to pay attention to, consider physical gifts, like singing, working hard, or fixing things. Consider head gifts, like knowledge, problem solving, questioning, or organizing. Consider heart gifts, like welcoming people, listening, or caregiving.  The goal is to have all ten pennies in the left pocket by the end of the day. If you don’t make it, you can try again tomorrow.

When we notice and name the gifts of others, we become a little like those elders from the twelve tribes of Israel, who saw that David had what was needed to be the shepherd of the people. When we affirm the God-given gifts of others, we encourage them to grow, using the fullness of who they are, not only for their personal fulfillment but also for the good of the community. I invite us to raid our piggy banks. Slip ten pennies into your right pocket tomorrow morning, then pay attention. Notice and name, letting people know the good things you see.

When those folks at Lincoln Park Presbyterian Church noticed and named my gifts for worship leadership and preaching, I wasn’t convinced. It would take time, the affirmation of the next two churches I served, a preaching prize, and success as a pastor for youth and families. Twenty-five years later, I know they were right. This is where I was always meant to be all along.

Thanks be to God for those who take the time to notice and name. May we go forth to do the same.

Resources

Ralph W. Klein. “Commentary on 2 Sam. 5:1-5, 9-10” in Preaching This Week, July 5, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on 2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

David G. Garber, Jr. “Commentary on 2 Sam. 5:1-5, 9-10” in Preaching This Week, July 5, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on 2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Amy G. Oden. “Commentary on 2 Sam. 5:1-5, 9-10” in Preaching This Week, July 4, 2021. Accessed online at Commentary on 2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Alphonetta Wines. “Commentary on 2 Sam. 5:1-5, 9-10” in Preaching This Week, July 8, 2018. Accessed online at Commentary on 2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Jenny Spencer. “Creating the Habit of Noticing” in Conscious Discipline, Aug. 1, 2017. Accessed online at https://consciousdiscipline.com/creating-the-habit-of-noticing/

John O-Brien and Beth Mount. “Naming Gifts” in Inclusion Alberta, 2019. Accessed online at https://inclusionalberta.org/fms-online-guide/naming-gifts/

2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10

5Then all the tribes of Israel came to David at Hebron, and said, “Look, we are your bone and flesh. 2For some time, while Saul was king over us, it was you who led out Israel and brought it in. The Lord said to you: It is you who shall be shepherd of my people Israel, you who shall be ruler over Israel.” 3So all the elders of Israel came to the king at Hebron; and King David made a covenant with them at Hebron before the Lord, and they anointed David king over Israel. 4David was thirty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned forty years. 5At Hebron he reigned over Judah seven years and six months; and at Jerusalem he reigned over all Israel and Judah thirty-three years. 9David occupied the stronghold and named it the city of David. David built the city all around from the Millo inwards. 10And David became greater and greater, for the Lord, the God of hosts, was with him.

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A Heart for the Lord

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “A Heart for the Lord” 1 Samuel 15:34-6:13

I’ve presided at more than 120 funerals since coming to Saranac Lake in 2005. That averages out to half-a-dozen or so each year. Some of those services have been for church members or friends of the church. Some have been for community members who have come to see me as their pastor. Some have been for complete strangers. All have felt the need for Christian burial and a celebration of life before the Lord.

In obituaries, eulogies, or the sort of spontaneous sharing that often accompanies the time of death, many things are celebrated about the loved one who has died. We hear stories about athletic achievement, workplace accomplishments, good grades, and advanced degrees. We praise intelligence, ingenuity, and special talents. We are certain to note titles earned, awards and prizes garnered, and times of leadership in the community. We celebrate a host of children and grandchildren, beauty, great smiles, and even good hair. For us, these are the marks of a blessed and well-lived life.

Our reading from First Samuel suggests that God may see things a little differently. It was the earliest days of the Israelite monarchy. The Prophet Samuel had advocated for God to anoint a king to gather together the twelve tribes of Israel and shape them into a powerful nation. God Almighty had resisted at first. After all, wasn’t God alone king over the people (1 Sam. 8:7)? But God relented, and the oil of blessing had been poured out upon Saul, a son of an influential family of the northern tribe of Benjamin. Saul looked the part: handsome, prophetic, a head taller than anyone else. People looked at Saul and said, “That boy! He is one impressive young man!”

But over Saul’s forty-two years of kingship, God ultimately saw things differently. It all came to a crisis over their neighbors the Amalekites. God had instructed Saul to wage holy war, utterly destroying the Amalekites, just as the Amalekites had tried to destroy the Hebrew people during their vulnerable years as wilderness wanderers. Yet, Saul preserved the life of the Amalekite king, saved the choicest livestock and best plunder, and then erected a monument to himself atop Mt. Carmel. When confronted with his pride and disobedience, Saul lied. It was time for a new leader.

The reluctant Samuel was dispatched to the household of Jesse of Bethlehem, who had an abundance of sons. What followed sounds a little like an Ancient Near East beauty contest. A parade of seven eligible sons was brought before the prophet. Eliab, the oldest, was tall and handsome, like Saul. Abindadab came next, perhaps a great huntsman and provider, followed by Shamah, perhaps the smartest man in all of Bethlehem. Each of the seven sons was impressive; each had the prophet reaching for his flask of anointing oil. But God said “No.”

God had different priorities for leadership, qualities not necessarily revealed in external beauty, strength, or intelligence. God saw the heart (lev). In the Hebrew understanding, the heart embodied and directed the whole person. Our soul, mind, body, feelings, will, conscience, and character were all believed to originate in the heart. God wanted a king with a heart for God. Regardless of their accomplishments, those first seven sons didn’t have what it would take.

David was considered so inconsequential that he wasn’t even invited to the party that day. Instead, he was off in the fields, tending his father’s sheep. When David arrived, he must have looked unlikely—just a ruddy shepherd boy, small and insignificant, in a dirty tunic and bare feet. As soon as Samuel laid eyes on David, the Lord spoke, “Get up, Samuel! This is the one. Anoint him.” At last, here was the son who would have a heart for God.

It’s a story that gets us thinking about our own hearts. We no longer attribute to the heart the qualities and abilities that our ancestors in the faith did, but I think we can surmise what God was looking for in David.

When we have a heart for God, we don’t get caught up in the externals. We’re not worried about being the most beautiful or popular. We’re not preoccupied with being the best athlete, the top of the class, or the person who dies with the biggest bank account. We aren’t driven by pride, the compulsion to please others, or an appetite for the limelight.

When we have a heart for God, we listen for God’s wisdom and leading. We take it to the Lord in prayer. We feast upon God’s word. We praise God in worship. We prioritize God in our lives, making the Lord the center of our professional identity, our families, even our civic engagement.

When we have a heart for God, we become obedient, even when the ways of God are at odds with the siren call of the world. It’s an ethical commitment to honesty—no cutting corners. It’s a moral call to integrity in our relationships. It’s the willingness to surrender our purpose to God’s purpose, to know that it isn’t always about us, and we won’t always get what we want. Instead, we choose to love God and love neighbor with all our heart, mind, soul and strength.

When we have a heart for God, we find our pattern, our role model, in Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of David. From the world’s perspective, Jesus didn’t have what it took to be God’s anointed one. He was from a humble community and of questionable birth. He labored long years as a carpenter, not a Torah scholar. He didn’t have a home, a college degree, a big bank account, or a mega-church. He was an itinerant preacher, who identified with the last, the least, the hungry, the vulnerable, the demon-possessed, the child. Yet the very heart of God beat within his chest, calling us to lives of love and humble service.

On February 4, 1968, Martin Luther King preached the message “Drum Major Instinct” from the pulpit of the Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, GA. Looking at the life of Christ, King concluded that everyone can be great, not through outstanding natural abilities or our impressive accomplishments but rather through our capacity to follow Jesus. King said, “Everybody can be great, because everybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and your verb agree to serve. You don’t have to know about Plato and Aristotle to serve. You don’t have to know Einstein’s theory of relativity to serve. You don’t have to know the second theory of thermodynamics in physics to serve. You only need a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love.”

We only need a heart like David’s, a heart like Jesus’, a heart like Dr. King’s: a heart for God.

It’s important to note that having a heart for God doesn’t mean we are perfect, impeccable paragons of virtue who never stray from righteousness. David notoriously abused power and failed as a father. Dr. King was accused of plagiarism and strayed from his marriage. But their hearts for God brought them around to the humility that saw themselves for what they were, sought forgiveness, and did what was needed to begin again. We aren’t perfect, either, but we have the good sense to grab onto God’s good grace and hold tight. Don’t we?

At the conclusion of King’s sermon, given only two months before his assassination in April 1968, Dr. King imagined his funeral and what he hoped people would say about him. He didn’t name his doctoral degree, his pivotal role in the Montgomery bus boycott, his founding of the Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee, his march on Selma, his Poor People’s Campaign, or even his Nobel Peace Prize. On the contrary, King hoped that someone would mention his efforts to serve others, to love people—even when they were hate-filled, to feed hungry people, to minister to fundamental human needs, to visit those in prison, to be alongside Jesus in in love, justice, truth, and commitment to others.

This morning, as the Prophet Samuel pours out the oil of anointing upon a ragamuffin shepherd boy who would one day be Israel’s greatest king, we are invited to imagine what God sees in us. What would we like people to say about us at our funerals? We don’t have to be head and shoulders above the rest. We don’t have to be the oldest son or the brainiest daughter. We don’t need to be a hero on the gridiron or a flash of brilliance on the ice. We don’t need to be homecoming queen or carnival king. All we need is a heart for God.

Resources

Martin Luther King. “Drum Major Instinct” delivered February 4, 1968 at the Ebenezer Baptist Church, Atlanta, GA. Stanford: The Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute. Accessed online at “Drum Major Instinct” | The Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute (stanford.edu)

Beth E. Elness-Hanson. “Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34-6:13” in Preaching This Week, June 16, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34—16:13 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Roger Nam. “Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34-6:13” in Preaching This Week, June 14, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34—16:13 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Klaus-Peter Adam. “Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34-6:13” in Preaching This Week, June 13, 2021. Accessed online at Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34—16:13 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Ralph w. Klein. “Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34-6:13” in Preaching This Week, June 14, 2009. Accessed online atCommentary on 1 Samuel 15:34—16:13 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

1 Samuel 15:34—16:13

34Then Samuel went to Ramah; and Saul went up to his house in Gibeah of Saul. 35Samuel did not see Saul again until the day of his death, but Samuel grieved over Saul. And the Lord was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel.

16The Lord said to Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul? I have rejected him from being king over Israel. Fill your horn with oil and set out; I will send you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have provided for myself a king among his sons.” 2Samuel said, “How can I go? If Saul hears of it, he will kill me.” And the Lord said, “Take a heifer with you, and say, ‘I have come to sacrifice to the Lord.’ 3Invite Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will show you what you shall do; and you shall anoint for me the one whom I name to you.” 4Samuel did what the Lord commanded, and came to Bethlehem. The elders of the city came to meet him trembling, and said, “Do you come peaceably?” 5He said, “Peaceably; I have come to sacrifice to the Lord; sanctify yourselves and come with me to the sacrifice.” And he sanctified Jesse and his sons and invited them to the sacrifice.

6When they came, he looked on Eliab and thought, “Surely the Lord’s anointed is now before the Lord.” 7But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” 8Then Jesse called Abinadab, and made him pass before Samuel. He said, “Neither has the Lord chosen this one.” 9Then Jesse made Shammah pass by. And he said, “Neither has the Lord chosen this one.” 10Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel, and Samuel said to Jesse, “The Lord has not chosen any of these.” 11Samuel said to Jesse, “Are all your sons here?” And he said, “There remains yet the youngest, but he is keeping the sheep.” And Samuel said to Jesse, “Send and bring him; for we will not sit down until he comes here.” 12He sent and brought him in. Now he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome. The Lord said, “Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.” 13Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward. Samuel then set out and went to Ramah.

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The Pearl of Scotland

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Pearl of Scotland” Isaiah 6:1-8

Let me tell you two stories.

Margaret never wanted to be a queen. She was the granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, one of the last Saxon kings of England. Amid the struggle for succession that followed Edmund’s death, Margaret’s father Edward was sent to the protection of King Stephen of Hungary. When Margaret was only nine, the family returned to England, where the king, childless and aging, had resolved to adopt Edward as his heir. But within days of their return to English soil, Edward fell mysteriously ill and died. For the next twelve years, Margaret was a dependent of the royal court until her brother Harold could inherit the crown. Margaret had little appetite for court with its pomp, intrigue, and power. Instead, she led a quiet and devout life, finding comfort in prayer, the study of scripture, and meditating upon the life of Christ. She was befriended by a fellow exile, Malcolm of Scotland, whose father had been murdered by the usurper Macbeth.

Isaiah never wanted to be a prophet. Young Isaiah was worshipping in the Temple, surrounded by songs and prayers, sacrifice and incense, when he saw a vision of the heavenly throne room. So limitless was God that the Temple could barely contain the hem of God’s robe.  In a flash of spiritual insight, Isaiah realized that his earthly worship was only a dim echo of heavenly rejoicing. Six-winged seraphs thundered God’s praise, shouting “Holy, holy, holy!” Amid the overwhelming sanctity of the heavenly and earthly throne rooms, Isaiah heard an undeniable voice. The Triune God called, saying to him, “Whom shall I send?”

Margaret’s calling came in the year 1066 when she was twenty-one. William the Conqueror laid claim to the English throne and defeated the British at the Battle of Hastings. Margaret, with her mother and siblings, fled north and boarded a boat, intent on returning to the safety of Hungary. But as the boat got underway, a mighty wind blew them off course, driving them ever further north until they ran aground in the broad estuary where the Forth River empties into the North Sea. There, they learned that providence had brought them to an old friend: Malcolm of Scotland. Now king, Malcolm was widowed with a young son. By all accounts, when Malcolm again saw Margaret, he fell head-over-heels in love. Here was his new queen, sent to him by God. Within days, Malcolm proposed, but the exiled princess turned down the royal invitation.

When God asked, “Whom shall I send?”, Isaiah was reluctant to answer the call. Confronted by the earthshaking holiness of God almighty, Isaiah felt only his frailty and unworthiness. Every false or self-serving statement that Isaiah had ever spoken rang in his ears, forcing him to confess the painful truth of his sinfulness, “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” But the reluctant Isaiah soon learned that God could work with that. A coal, plucked from the fire of the heavenly throne room, touched Isaiah’s lips, and his sins were refined by the holy fire. Isaiah’s overweening sense of unworthiness was replaced by a compulsion to speak God’s word to the people.

When the exiled Princess Margaret declined Malcolm’s proposal, the Scottish King persisted. He granted Margaret’s family his protection, and they came to live in his castle at Dunfermline. There Margaret saw a royal court far removed from the pomp and intrigue of England. Malcolm was illiterate. His subjects lived in poverty. Margaret’s love for the king began as she read to him from the New Testament, and she learned of his passion to improve the lives of his people. Margaret and Malcolm heard in the words of Jesus, an imperative to serve the “least of these.” More than three years after that fateful wind blew her north to Scotland, Margaret finally said, “Yes,” to Malcolm. She came to see that her royal marriage would allow her to serve two kingdoms, one earthly, the other heavenly.

Isaiah’s words of prophecy held a similar concern for the vulnerable of the land. He had seen the face of poverty and the indifference of the rich. They had failed to honor the words of God, ignored the plight of the widow and orphan, denied justice to the foreign worker, and ground the face of the poor into the dust. The prophet spoke God’s judgment against the Kingdom of Judah, pleading with them to repent. Time was short, Isaiah warned, but they could still learn to do good: to seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, and plead for the widow (Is. 1:17). If they failed, God would bring judgment against the people of Israel. Babylon would rise. Judah would be conquered and taken into exile.

Margaret and Malcolm had a happy, fruitful marriage. The exiled princess, now a queen, became the mother of eight children and the mother of the Scottish people. She saw herself as a steward, entrusted by God with the care of a nation. Each morning, Margaret left the palace at Dunfermline with her New Testament tucked under her arm. She took a seat on a rock outside the royal residence to receive guests who came to her for counsel, prayer, and help. The queen fed nine orphans every morning with her own silver spoon. Each evening, Margaret and Malcolm opened their table to 24 of their poorest neighbors. They instituted a series of feast days, in keeping with the church calendar, when 300 of their most vulnerable subjects were banqueted with royal splendor. Motivated by the love of Christ, they built schools and churches, opened hospitals and hostels, and rebuilt Iona Abbey, which had fallen into ruin. They instituted sabbath laws, giving workers a weekly day of rest. Margaret had special concern for prisoners and exiles. She bought the freedom of English and Irish slaves, returning them to their homelands.

When Isaiah’s prophecy was fulfilled and Judah fell to Babylonian invaders, Isaiah’s call shifted as the no-longer-powerful people of Judah became as vulnerable as the poor they had once oppressed. Isaiah spoke God’s words of consolation to a hurting people, “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.  Speak tenderly to Jerusalem” (Isaiah 40:1).  Years later as the exiles returned home, Isaiah went with them, prophesying about God’s plans for a new beginning for the humbled nation, speaking God’s promise, “For I will create a new heaven and a new earth; the past events will not be remembered or come to mind” (Isaiah 65:17). Perhaps Isaiah’s greatest legacy, though, was the lasting impact that he would have upon all who pursue God’s call to serve the last and the least. When Jesus preached to his hometown crowd in Nazareth, he opened the scroll to the words of the prophet Isaiah and read words that were fulfilled in his ministry, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

In 1093, when King Malcolm and their oldest son were killed in a skirmish with Norman invaders, Queen Margaret, hearing the news in Edinburgh, fell sick. She died three days later; some say of a broken heart. But Margaret and Malcolm’s youngest son, David, would become Scotland’s most beloved king, pursuing his father’s royal rule and his mother’s passion for the least of these. One hundred and fifty years after Margaret’s death, those who remembered her life and legacy began to advocate for her canonization as a saint. The trouble was that she didn’t fit the traditional mold of sainthood. She was a devoted wife and the happy mother of a large family. She worked no miracles, other than the everyday miracle of loving her people and advocating ceaselessly for their health, justice, and care. The arbiters of sainthood in Rome came up with four posthumous miracles for Margaret, all related to her tomb and bones. Today Margaret is reverenced as the patron saint of service to the poor, learning, large families, mothers, and all those who are raising children. Margaret’s greater legacy is felt whenever we, who have privilege by virtue of our birth, education, or wealth, choose to generously use our resources for the good of our vulnerable neighbors.

In his biography of Margaret, her friend and confessor Bishop Turgot of St. Andrews, noted that the name Margaret derives from the Greek word Margaron, meaning pearl. Turgot wrote, “She was called Margaret, and in the sight of God she showed herself to be a pearl, precious in faith and works. She was indeed a pearl to you, to me, to all of us, yea, to Christ Himself, and being Christ’s she is all the more ours now that she has left us, having been taken to the Lord. . . and now she shines in her place among the jewels of the Eternal King.” Margaret has been known as the Pearl of Scotland ever since.

Resources:

Turgot, Bishop of St. Andrew’s. “Life of St. Margaret Queen of Scotland.” trans. Theodericus Monk of Durham and William Forbes-Leith. Edinburgh: William Paterson Press, 1884. Accessed online at https://archive.org/details/lifeofstmargaret00turguoft/lifeofstmargaret00turguoft/page/n9/mode/2up

Clerk of Oxford. “St Margaret of Scotland,” June 10, 2012. Accessed online at https://aclerkofoxford.blogspot.com/2012/06/st-margaret-of-scotland.html

Griffiths, Paul James. “Queen Margaret: the Pearl of Scotland” in The Middle Ages, May 7, 2021. Accessed online at https://www.christianheritageedinburgh.org.uk

Floyd, Michael. “Exegetical Perspective on Isaiah 6:1-8” in Feasting on the Word, Year B Vol. 2.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Ramsey Jr., G. Lee. “Homiletical Perspective on Isaiah 6:1-8” in Feasting on the Word, Year B Vol. 2.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Isaiah 6:1-8

6In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” 4The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke.

5And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” 6Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 8Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”

Santa Margarida da Escócia – Basílica de São Patrício, Montreal (Canadá) – Foto: Gustavo Kralj

Teambuilding

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Teambuilding” Mark 1:14-20

Teambuilding began in the United States in the early twentieth century. The early behavioral psychologist Elton Mayo conducted a series of experiments to determine if workplaces could be changed to increase productivity and yield greater profits. Dr. Mayo tested his theories at Hawthorne Works, a large factory complex of the Western Electric Company in Cicero, Illinois. Hawthorne employed 45,000 workers, mass-producing telephone equipment. The factory had a diverse workforce: Czech immigrants, longtime working-class Chicagoans, and African Americans who had migrated north from the deep south.

Dr. Mayo began his testing by changing the physical environment of workers. He altered lighting and manipulated the humidity of the workplace, but physical changes had little or no affect. Next, he expanded the study to observe social and emotional factors that might have an impact upon workers, like their interactions with managers and co-workers. Dr. Mayo hit paydirt.

Building relationships between leaders and workers inspired feelings of teamwork. Leaders saw their role as providing vital support for teammates. Workers developed a sense of responsibility to colleagues. All that led to positive changes in employee performance. Not only were workers more productive, but they also had a greater sense of satisfaction in the workplace. Bonds nurtured at work also led to diverse, lasting friendships in the community.

The experiments revolutionized industry and launched a century of teambuilding efforts. Today teambuilding is a core concept of organizational development and management. Teambuilding exercises are an integral part of training for the US Army, professional athletics, and corporate, as well as non-profit, workplaces.

Jesus knew the importance of building a team to follow and work alongside him in ministry.  In our reading from Mark’s gospel, Jesus began his own teambuilding.  As Jesus walked the shores of the Sea of Galilee, he noticed brothers Peter and Andrew casting their fishing nets.  Jesus saw something he liked. He called them to follow him. Immediately, they joined him.  Just a little farther along the shoreline, Jesus ran into another set of brothers—James and John, mending nets with their father Zebedee.  Soon they, too, had joined the team, leaving their family and fishing boat behind. There would be other disciples: Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, Little James, Thaddeus, Simon, and Judas. Eventually, there would be twelve disciples serving in what scholars call the “inner circle” of Jesus’ ministry.

For sixteen centuries, faithful people described what Jesus did with the disciples as a summoning to vocation—where vocation meant the calling to a consecrated, religious life, as a priest or nun. With the Protestant Reformation, all that changed. First Martin Luther and then John Calvin taught that all Christians have a vocation or calling to use our God-given gifts in our secular workplaces and in the congregations that we affiliate with. The minister who preaches the gospel has a calling, but so do the musicians who enhance our worship and the Sanctus workers who dust the pews. Team Jesus calls us all.

The disciples made a diverse group. Perhaps the only thing they had in common was their shared heritage as Israelites. Peter, Andrew, James, and John earned their living on the Sea of Galilee, casting nets or towing dragnets to yield a harvest of freshwater fish. Matthew was, of course, a tax collector. He straddled the uncomfortable gap between the ruling elite and the everyday people, collecting taxes from his neighbors to finance Herod’s building projects or pay for the Roman occupation. The name Bartholomew means Son of the Furrows (or fields). He was a farmer. Simon, often called Simon the Zealot, was a bit of a radical, affiliated with the resistance group that would eventually revolt against the Roman occupation. Jesus knew it would take a variety of people to build his team and serve the Kingdom.

Our team has diversity, too. We serve (or have served) in schools as teachers, counselors, and administrators. We are healers: nurses, doctors, researchers, and home health aides. We are civil servants who have served the APA, DEC, or our local governments. We are businesspeople, running small businesses, programming computers, or sharing our expertise as consultants. Somehow those differing vocations have found a spiritual home and shared purpose right here.

The disciples on Team Jesus had differing gifts. Peter was a leader: the first to know that Jesus was the Messiah, the first to retreat to Galilee after the crucifixion, and the first to avow his love when the risen Lord found him on the lakeshore a second time. Philip had the gift of reaching out; no sooner had he found Jesus than he was inviting his friend Nathanael to come and see this rabbi who just might be the Messiah. Thomas asked the big questions, but he also had the gift of loyalty: he followed Jesus to Jerusalem, even when he expected the worst. John had the gift of love, laying his head upon the Lord’s breast in companionable silence and standing at the foot of the cross with the women. It would take a variety of gifts to achieve Jesus’ purpose. All were valued and needed.

We, too, are a people of differing gifts. We may be richly blessed with musical gifts. Or, we may we have a passion for learning and studying scripture. We may have the patience to teach and work with children. We have gifts for good cooking, yummy baking, and warm hospitality. We care–our warm sympathy overflows for folks in tough times. We are generous, sharing of our resources and money. In the sharing of our differing gifts, churches like this thrive, and Jesus is known.

Somehow, Jesus forged the diverse and differently gifted disciples into a team that would change the world. There were some teambuilding exercises along the way. They learned to depend upon one another when he sent them out in pairs to teach and heal. They learned to trust in his power and presence when their boat was rocked by a rising storm. They learned that they could feed hungry people by sharing their meager resources and believing that with Jesus just a little could be enough. Jesus built his team to minister at his side, but even more so, he built a team that, in the long years to come, could minister even when he wasn’t right there, telling them what to do.

Team Jesus was wildly successful, with productivity and profits far outpacing the biggest dreams of Dr. Elton Mayo and those early twentieth century captains of industry. Peter would appoint himself chief among apostles to the Hebrew people, but the Holy Spirit had bigger things in mind. From the household of the Roman Centurion Cornelius in Caesarea Maritime to the household of the emperor in Rome, Peter would lead the charge of the early church into new territory. John would plant a church in Israel whose loving bonds would survive terrible persecution. John would successfully lead his congregation into exile, from Israel across the Mediterranean to western Turkey. There he would write at least three letters that we continue to cherish today, and his memories of Jesus would eventually be recorded in the Gospel that bears his name. Bartholomew never went back to farming. He teamed up with his fellow disciple Thaddeus to venture as far as India with the gospel message. Along the way, they planted the seeds of faith in Armenia, which became the first Christian nation in the year 301. Simon the Zealot left behind his political aspirations. He traveled to Egypt and North Africa and planted churches from Cairo to Alexandria to Cyrene. Some traditions say that Simon traveled on to Spain and then Britain where he shared about his life with Jesus until he lost his own life, crucified by the Romans in the year 61CE. What a team! They took the good news from one end of the Roman Empire to the other—and beyond.

Our team may not travel as far afield in the Lord’s purpose, but our differing gifts have been shared in ways that have made a life-changing difference for others. The good news that we share with our children in Sunday School, Youth Group, and confirmation provides a foundation of faith that will sustain them as they go off to school, embark on professional endeavors, and start families of their own. Our passion for feeding hungry people has motivated us to grow bushel upon bushel of beans at the Jubilee Garden, fill the pack basket with monthly food offerings, create a permanent home for the Saranac Lake Food Pantry, and make a dent in global hunger through CROP Walk and Church World Service. Our commitment to caring makes a loving difference. It prompts deacons to reach out to homebound friends, inspires prayer chain warriors to pray fervently, sends us forth with summer bouquets for folks who need love, and equips us to comfort families at the time of death. What a team! We are good news for a world still deeply in need of the love and mercy of Jesus.

As the New Year unfolds, so will the teambuilding efforts of the world around us. The army will build cohesiveness among recruits by inviting them to work together to carry super heavy loads that can’t be handled alone or by dropping units off in the middle of nowhere with orders to return to base forthwith. Athletic managers will build trust and mutual respect among their professional athletes by giving them each a few clues, locking them together in an escape room, and giving them an hour to get out. Titans of industry will hope to unlock productivity and profits by scheduling teambuilding retreats for their employees. Participants will try exchanging warm fuzzies (compliments), meditating, and facing the physical challenge of a ropes course.

I suspect that Jesus will continue to build his team right here at the First Presbyterian Church. He’ll inspire us to welcome diversity. He’ll celebrate our differing gifts. He’ll delight as we get busy in his purpose. Go, Team Jesus!

Resources

Michael Rogness. “Commentary on Mark 1:14-20” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 25, 2015. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Cynthia Briggs Kittredge. “Commentary on Mark 1:14-20” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 21, 2018. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Alicia Vargas. “Commentary on Mark 1:14-20” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 21, 2024. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Feli Oliveros. “What is Team Building? How to Build Stronger, Cohesive Teams in 2023” in Talkshop, July 29, 2023. Accessed online at https://gusto.com

Angela Robinson. “History of Team Building” in teambuilding, Sept. 27, 2022. Accessed online at https://teambuilding.com.

Mark 1:14-20

14Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, 15and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” 16As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. 17And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” 18And immediately they left their nets and followed him. 19As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. 20Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

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A Heart for the Welsh

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “A Heart for the Welsh” Matt. 28:16-20

It wasn’t the welcome that he expected. Gybi and his friends had left behind their native Cornwall and sailed across the Bristol Channel to the southwest of Wales.  They landed near a broad and pleasant meadow, lush with grass and flowers. It looked like a promising place to begin. The monks pitched their tent and began to pray, trusting that God would provide the vision for their mission.

When the local king Edelig heard that Christian monks were camped in his field, he was enraged. “To arms!” he cried, gathering his guard and riding out to slaughter the hapless monks and end their nonsense.  But as the king galloped into the meadow, his horse faltered, falling to the ground and dying. Then, the world went black.  King Edelig and his men were struck blind. Like newborn puppies, they wriggled and groped in the meadow’s long grass.

Realizing that he had picked a fight with the wrong God, King Edelig pleaded for mercy, promising Gybi anything he might ask, if only his sight would be restored. The wily Gybi saw a bargain to be made. If King Edelig would love the Lord Jesus and share just enough land to start a few small churches, Gybi and his friends would pray for healing. The deal was struck, and fervent prayers were offered. First the king and then all his men regained their sight. For good measure, Gybi raised the king’s horse from death to life. The king, who had begun the day with a heart set on murder, ended the day with a heart turned to Jesus.

Faithful people have been going forth in pursuit of the Great Commission ever since Jesus told his disciples to “go therefore into the world to make disciples of all nations.” From the summit of Mt. Tabor, where the disciples stood, 2,000 feet above the Galilean hills, they could see from snow-capped Mt. Hermon to the oases of the Trans-Jordan wilderness, from the blue-green waters of the Mediterranean to the desert sands of the Arabian Peninsula.  With the world stretched out at their feet, the disciples surveyed their mission field—and it was vast. 

These new marching orders from the risen Lord expanded their purpose.  Earlier, when Jesus had commissioned the disciples, he sent them to local villages with good news and healing for the “lost sheep” of Israel (MT 10).  The disciples were sent to those who knew God but feared that they were beyond the reach of God’s love. Sin or sickness, poverty or persecution had made them outsiders, unloved by their pious neighbors and unwelcome in the Temple.  The disciples had risen to the challenge of finding the lost, but now they had a whole world to evangelize.  It’s hard to believe, but by the fourth century, the gospel spread from eleven worried disciples on the summit of Mt. Tabor to the heart of the empire and the halls of power, becoming an official religion of Rome in the year 313. 

As Caesar’s armies marched forth to subdue the world, the gospel went with them. When Gybi was born to the king of Cornwall on the frontier of Britannia in the year 483, he was not the first of his family to be Christian. Destined to one day rule Cornwall, Gybi set out as a young man on pilgrimage to Judea and Jerusalem, where he longed to worship at Christ’s tomb—the holy sepulcher.  When he reached the Holy Land, Gybi was shocked by what he found. Instead of a community of humble disciples sharing the gospel with all nations, the Byzantine church was like an occupying army, great with wealth, hubris, and contempt for the local people. Dismayed by what he witnessed, Gybi sought out the Jewish Christians who persisted in the traditions passed from Jesus to his followers. Gybi met descendants of Jesus’s brothers, James and Jude. In Gybi, they saw humility and a heart for the Lord, and they anointed him with a Great Commission, to take the true gospel wherever the Spirit might send him.

Admonished by an angel of the Lord to return home, Gybi departed for Cornwall, where he renounced the throne and instead planted churches and honed gifts for healing.  One day, the Lord spoke to Gybi a second time, instructing him to sail north with twelve friends to the quarrelsome people of Wales. That’s where this sermon began, with the less than warm welcome of King Edelig.  Gybi and his friends built a small chapel near a deep spring of fresh water. All it took was the rumor of Gybi’s miraculous healing of the King and his men for the people to come. Tradition tells us that Gybi’s miracles rivaled those of the first disciples. He restored sight to the blind, cleansed the leprous, healed the paralytic, loosened the tongues of the dumb, and cast out evil spirits, all by virtue of the HS. To this day, the Welsh seek the water of Gybi’s Well, which is said to heal eye disease, lameness, warts, scrofula, and rheumatism.

With the warlike King Edelig pacified, gifts of healing abounding, and a burgeoning church growing across the southwest of Wales, it seemed that Gybi had fulfilled his great commission, but one day, the angel of the Lord spoke a third time, instructing Gybi to go to the wild and mountainous Kingdom of Gwynedd.  Gybi with his twelve friends sailed north across Cardigan Bay and along St. George’s Channel to the windswept, wave battered shores of Anglesey. There, too, a less than warm welcome waited. No sooner had Gybi pitched his tent than a wild goat bounded in and knelt at his feet in search of sanctuary. In hot pursuit were the hounds of King Maelgwn, soon followed by the King. “Give me that goat!” The king demanded.

The blessed Gybi sensed there was another deal to be made. “I’ll release my goat,” Gybi said, “If you will grant to me all the land that she runs through while your dogs are in pursuit.” The king, eager to be rid of the troublesome goat, agreed.  Off she bounded, with the dogs at her heels, yet no matter how bold their pursuit, the hounds could not gain ground. From one end of the kingdom to the other she scampered until finally returning to Gybi and again taking refuge behind the holy man. 

Seeing that this was no ordinary goat, nor an ordinary man, the king fell to his knees. He pledged to Gybi the old Roman Fort at Holyhead, abandoned 130 years earlier when the Romans turned their back on Britain.  There Gybi established a church and monastic settlement in the old Celtic tradition where families gathered, the hungry were fed, the sick were cared for, and the Lord was worshipped with heart and hand.

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” The Rev. Dr. David Lose, past President of the Lutheran School of Theology in Philadelphia, says that Jesus’ “Great Commission,” is terrifying for most folks in the pews.  We aren’t evangelists. We can’t preach like Peter. We can’t pray like Paul. When it comes to public speaking, most of us would rather not. But I suspect that the charge that the risen Lord gave to his disciples isn’t always fulfilled in sensational ways. Sometimes, the most powerful purveyors of God’s love are people like Gybi, people like us. They choose humility over pomp and glory. They have a heart for caring and healing. When times get tough, they pray fervently and trust that God has a plan, even when they do not.

The blessed Gybi died in the year 555 at the age of eighty-four, surrounded by the followers and friends who called Holyhead their home.  They say that as he breathed his last, the angels of the Lord came and took Gybi’s spirit to heaven. The church and monastery that Gybi founded remained the center for Christianity in northern Wales for more than 1,000 years until plundered by the forces of Henry VIII in the 16th century. Today St. Gybi’s Church, still nestled within the walls of the old Roman fort at Holyhead, is a vital working church with regular worship services in English and Welsh, as well as weddings, funerals, baptisms, blessings, and outreach to the community.

Resources:

David Nash Ford. “St. Cybi Felyn, Abbot of Caer-Gybi” in Early British Kingdoms. Accessed online.

Celtic Literature Collective. Vita Sancti Kebii (The Life of St. Cybi).

The Friends of St. Gybi. The Story of St. Cybi. Accessed online.

–. “The Age of Saints.” Accessed online at thehistoryofwales.typepad.com.

Matthew 28:16-20

16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him, but they doubted. 18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit 20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Llywelyn2000, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

St Cybi window. St Beuno’s Church, Penmorfa, Gwynedd, Wales

Turn Aside

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Throughout Lent, I’ll be sharing a weekly devotion that draws on my travels to the middle east. Here is the third.

“Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight and see why the bush is not burned up.’ When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’ Then he said, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.’” — Exodus 3:3-5

Today we visit St. Catherine’s Monastery in the Sinai Peninsula of Egypt, the traditional site of the burning bush. On your way to St. Catherine’s, you’ll climb through a beautiful but harsh desert landscape of blowing sand, jagged cliffs, and plastic water bottles, tossed by travelers. Bedouin settlements cluster around springs. Disinterested shepherds cradle cellphones and watch shaggy flocks of sheep and goats. At the racetrack, a runaway camel, fast and cagey, brays and evades his captors. It’s a stunning place to visit, but how do people live here? It’s a testament to tenacity, ingenuity, and tradition.

When Moses tended the flock of his father-in-law Jethro here, he may have been regretting his change in careers.  He had traded his role as Prince of Egypt for that of a nomadic shepherd in the Sinai Wilderness.  It was hot, hard, lonely work with plenty of time to think about the mistakes he had make, like killing that Egyptian overseer. Then, he saw something remarkable, a bush that appeared to burn but was not consumed. As he turned aside to explore the mystery, Moses discovered that he was on holy ground and that God had a holy purpose for his life: leading the Hebrew people to freedom.

Wherever you may walk today, remember that it is on holy ground, and God has a holy purpose for you.

What might you need to turn aside from today so that you can have eyes to see and ears to hear God’s holy purpose for your life?

Please pray with me . . .

God of our ancestors, we turn aside from the preoccupations of our life to attend to your presence. Grant us eyes to see the bush that burns for us. Take off our shoes.  Give us ears to hear the purpose that you would have us undertake.  When you call our name, may we answer, “Here I am.” We pray through Christ our Lord, who was and is and is to come. Amen.

“‘You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you,’ said the Lion.” — C.S. Lewis

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” — Frederick Buechner

“I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you.” — Annie Dillard

Sinai Trail, St. Catherine’s Monastery, Egypt

God speaks to each

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Poem for a Tuesday — “Gott spricht zu jedem” by Rainer Maria Rilke

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

got to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

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Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) was a Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist. He was the only son of an unhappy marriage. His mother mourned the death of an earlier daughter. During Rilke’s early years, she sought to recover the lost girl through the boy. According to Rilke, he had to wear “fine clothes” and “was a plaything [for his mother], like a big doll.” He attended military school and trade school before studying literature, art history, and philosophy in Prague and Munich. He was a mystic, proto-modernist, and early proponent of psychoanalysis. He traveled extensively throughout Europe and Russia before settling in Switzerland. At the time of his death from leukemia, his work was largely unknown to the reading public, but his posthumous followers have been many. He is now considered the most lyrical and influential of the German early modernists.

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