Listening for God

Sermon

Jan. 14, 2018

Second Sunday after Epiphany – Year B

Based on 1 Samuel 3:1-10

Rev. Dr. Kevin Orr

            “I don’t want to hear it!” Have you ever said that? Sometimes we say it when we are tired of hearing the same excuses. “I’m sorry I forgot to pick you up from work again. I just lost track of time.” “I don’t want to hear it!” One of my new year’s resolutions was to stop watching MSNBC and Fox News. Maybe most of you gave up on cable news a long time ago. I just had to stop watching because I didn’t want to hear it anymore, the opinions and half-truths posing as news, reporting that tried to spin narratives. I was tired of it and so far I have kept to that resolution and have not missed it. All of the shouting, the verbal attacks, the name calling, the nastiness, bullying and bravado, no one wants to hear it!

            Who do you want to listen to? It seems like a lot of people wish Oprah had her daily show back on after that speech she gave at the Golden Globes last week. People were expressing hope that she would run for president. It was a powerful speech. We want to listen to people that are good story tellers, who are honest and real. We want to listen to people who are hopeful about the future, that things will get better.

            We want to listen to people like Martin Luther King, Jr., whose birthday is tomorrow. He would have turned 89. And as you may recall, he was assassinated 50 years ago this coming April 4^th. King’s preaching was not just oratorical flourishes and well-practiced cadence. King spoke from a deep place, with the certainty of what was right and what was wrong. King had a moral clarity and he was able to communicate that clarity even as he acknowledged that the human condition is complex, that people are not cartoon characters. King spoke from his heart and his soul. He spoke truth even when people who respected him didn’t want to hear what he had to say. For example, 50 years ago yesterday King called for an anti-war rally at the nation’s capital for Feb. 5-6. The New York Times quoted him as saying the following:

“This next year, from today until Nov. 5, may well be the most fateful one that we shall have to face for the rest of this generation…During this year, it will be the war that will decide whether our country regains its balance in world politics and its sanity at home, or turns to more bombs abroad and more arrests at home…The choice for America is clear: Either we will end the war in Vietnam or many of our most sensitive citizens must be sent to jail.”

           

            There were a lot of people who supported King when he was fighting for civil rights. But they were not on board with his views on the Vietnam War. There were a lot of people who didn’t want to hear it. But there were others who were encouraged to stand up for what they knew to be right, even if it cost something, because King’s words gave them their moral backbone. That’s what great speakers can do. They inspire us to be our best selves.

            I suspect that maybe sometimes we even want to listen to God. We would love it in times of uncertainty, when we are trying to make a difficult decision, if God would just tell us what to do. “God, will you please tell me the right answer?” A common definition of prayer is that prayer is a conversation between you and God. That sounds good. But my hunch is that for most of us we talk to God more than we listen to what God might say back. We run through our prayer list. Or we read the daily devotion with the little prayer at the end and then move on to the newspaper. Let’s be honest, a lot of the praying we do on Sunday morning is us saying words, and precious little silence to see if God might say something back. In fact, I’m not sure if you all would want even five minutes of silence in our worship service. A bunch of people being silent together can get a little awkward. Unless of course you are with Quakers because that’s what they do.

            Does God even talk to us? What does God’s voice sound like? I think we would all agree that God’s voice does not sound like James Earl Jones, although that would be pretty cool if it did. Is it a voice you hear or is it just your own voice you hear in your head and you decide that was God speaking to you?

            As the story goes, God spoke with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. God and Moses talked to each other all the time, like two friends. Moses would go into the Tent of Meeting, and a pillar of smoke would come down onto the tent. After a while, the smoke would go back up to heaven and Moses would head out and go on with his day. We hear the accounts of how God through angels spoke to Abraham and Sarah. God spoke to Isaac and to Jacob.

            But as we hear this morning, in the days of the elder priest Eli and his good for nothing sons Hophni and Phinehas, it was a time when the word of the Lord was rare and visions were not widespread. Why was that? Was God not talking or was no one listening? I guess it could go either way. Perhaps God was calling out to Eli but Eli was distracted or simply not paying attention. Or maybe God was frustrated with the way things were going among God’s people and God had decided to go silent for a while. Maybe God just didn’t have much of anything to say.

            Whatever the reason, we are told that early in the morning, before dawn, as the lamp of God was about to go out, God woke up the boy Samuel from his sleep, calling out his name. God did not wake up Eli, the elderly priest, but Samuel, the young apprentice. How come Eli didn’t hear the voice? He and Samuel weren’t that far apart. Scholars suggest that there was merely a curtain dividing the two spaces where they were sleeping. Surely the voice had to be loud enough to awaken Samuel and that Eli may have heard it as well. Maybe not only was Eli’s eyesight going his hearing was slipping as well. Why after the second time Eli didn’t get out of bed and go walk around the temple telling whoever was pranking Samuel to knock it off and go home? Maybe he was too tired. Or maybe Eli started to get a hunch that the voice Samuel was hearing was a voice Eli used to hear but hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t the voice of another person, a voice that echoes across a room, but instead a voice that echoes in your heart.

            After the third time, Eli’s hunch seemed to be confirmed. So he taught his apprentice how to respond the next time he heard the voice call his name. He said, “Samuel, if you hear your name called again, this is what you say: Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” That’s what Eli had been taught to do. The attentive student heard what Eli told him to do. And when his name was called a fourth time, Samuel sat up and said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

            There is a lot in this phrase, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” First of all, it begins with the command “speak.” Instead of saying, “Hello?” or “Who is this?” the assumption is that it is God that is calling your name. So you tell God to speak. But then you follow it up immediately with “your servant.” You take the posture of a servant being addressed by your master, your Lord. You are awaiting instruction. You say, “your servant is listening.” There is a difference between hearing and listening. Kim will tell you. There have been some times where I heard Kim tell me something, but I wasn’t really listening. To listen means to pay attention. But not only that, to listen is to be open for what is about to be said. Selective listening doesn’t count. Also, when God is speaking, you don’t say, “Speak Lord, and tell me what I want to hear.” To listen means to have an open mind and an open heart, prepared to take seriously what is about to be said, even if it is something you don’t want to hear.

            So maybe before we decide to get quiet and listen for God, we need to decide if we are willing to listen to what God might have to say. Maybe what God will say to us is a word of affirmation, that you are on the right track. Maybe it will be a word of comfort: “You are my child and I love you. All will be well.” But maybe that voice is telling you a hard truth, that the better choice is the harder choice, that you said a hurtful word, or you were insensitive to your friend, or you need to let go of that cherished idea of yours. Are you willing to hear what God has to say to you if what God says is uncomfortable?

            But then again, who else do you want to hear from, besides Oprah? Surely whatever God speaks is just what needs to be said. Surely what God tells you will not lead you astray. Surely God’s word is a lamp unto your feet and a light unto your path.

            Just keep in mind that God decides when God will speak and what God will speak. You can be still and listen for that voice but there is no guarantee that God will speak to you. And you certainly can’t dictate to God what you want God to say. Just as we are free to speak or remain silent, so God is free. Also, sometimes God speaks without words. What I mean is, sometimes things are said without words. A feeling says something. Being together says something. There’s a story about two elderly monks who met for an hour. They said nothing to each other. They simply sat together in silence. Then, after the hour passed, they parted company. They just wanted to be in each other’s company. That was enough. And so maybe just sitting for a while in God’s company without speaking is enough.

            Be assured that what God speaks into your heart is truth. God is the fount of all truth. Know that whatever God speaks into your heart comes from a place of love and compassion, for God is love. And know that whatever God speaks into your heart is a word of hope for our God is the God of all hope.

            I believe God can speak to us through poetry. I want to end with this poem by Andrew King entitled “The One Whose Heart is Searching”. I invite you to still your mind and listen to these beautiful images, and see if it speaks to your heart.

           

Samuel on his bed beside the lamp,
its flame describing in slow pulses

the flickering hope
of a lonely, quiet yearning;

the hollow stillness
like a silent pond where

a searching voice could be heard
like a dropping pebble.

And in the dark and in the emptiness
the One who is doing the calling,

the One whose heart is searching,
is the unheard God.

*

Nathanael on the ground
under the fig tree, looking

up through its leaves at
an empty sky.

The leaves sift the sunlight,
its harshness is filtered,

but the shade over his soul
shows little gleam of joy.

His heart nearly closed
in its quest for truth,

his horizons have dimmed,
no corners of hope discerned.

But there is One who
remains watching and looking,

and the One who is searching for him
is the unrecognized God.

*

You and me on our beds,
our couches, you and me by our lamps.

You and me under spreading trees,
or peering at the sky through windows;

you and me at our office desks,
fingering the plastic of keyboards;

you and me in our living-rooms,
or sitting at our kitchen tables;

you and me, so yearning for hope,
so longing for meaning, truth, or joy –

may we become aware of the One
who is searching for us;

awake to the One
who knows and calls our names

longing for us to listen:
the God of promise and of invitation.

Arise and Shine

Sermon

January 7, 2018

Based on Isaiah 60:1-6

Rev. Dr. Kevin Orr

            Has anyone experienced the post-holidays blues? It’s that let down after all the Christmas cheer, when the decorations have been, or soon will be, put away for another year, family have gone back home, the radio doesn’t play any holiday music anymore, no more Christmas movies on TV. Things have gotten back to normal. We have gone back to work. The credit card bills will be coming around soon with all our extra charges on them. And it’s cold!

            There is something about turning the calendar, of letting go of 2017 and entering into 2018 with fresh resolve, a clean slate, a new year of possibility and potential. At the same time, as my middle son reminded me when we were driving back from Florida, nothing changes on New Year’s Day. Everything is still the same. We still have the same problems and challenges, the same anxieties, the same issues and struggles and responsibilities. The holidays are great, don’t get me wrong. But they also have a tendency to mask our realities. And when the mask is removed, we discover that nothing has changed. Honestly, it’s quite likely that 2018 will be as much of a mixed bag as 2017 was. Singing the Christmas carols, lighting our candles and singing “Silent Night”, celebrating the birth of Jesus, in the end, doesn’t really change anything. Throw in this brutally cold weather we have been having lately and that can be a bit of a letdown.

            In spite of our best efforts to celebrate up a storm these past few weeks, Isaiah 59:9-11 still is descriptive of the world we live in:

Justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us. We wait for light, and lo, there is darkness; and for brightness, but we walk in gloom. We grope like the blind along a wall, groping like those who have no eyes. We stumble at noon as in the twilight, among the vigorous as though we were dead. We all growl like bears, like doves we moan mournfully. We wait for justice, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far from us.

            The prophet who wrote these words was speaking on behalf of Israel, the people of God who had returned from exile. They had left Babylon and returned to Jerusalem with great anticipation. They were returning to the land of their ancestors. Their grandparents had told them the stories of Jerusalem in its glory, when it was the destination of kings, a cosmopolitan capitol. They had visions of the restoration of Jerusalem, the seat of God, the center of the world. But when they got back, they saw Jerusalem in ruins. Their present reality was far from what their hopes and dreams were. It was a gap that seemed like a canyon. And it was depressing. It was a depressing, sad sight, the state of things when they returned from exile. They were downcast, discouraged, depressed, and uncertain about their future. They looked around and could not see how Jerusalem would ever return to the former glory it had which their grandparents had told them about. Things looked pretty hopeless, even dire.

            So the prophet offered a word of hope to these depressed and discouraged children of God. He wrote, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!” This is what God has already done. The light has come, the glory of God is here. Sure, it may look depressing and discouraging. But all this ruin and mess is a veil. God is here too. The light of God is present and it is piercing through the darkness. Open your eyes and look around! Can’t you see it?

            Well actually, it seemed hard to see. Apparently the prophet had to speak this into existence because the light and glory of God piercing the darkness was not obvious. If the people could see the light of God shining on them, the prophet would have had no need to name it and draw their attention to the light. They would not need to look up and look around because they would have already noticed it.

            So, why was it so hard to see? Why was the glory of God’s presence not obvious to the children of God? Maybe because the light was subtle, a light that you had to actually look for and take note of. It wasn’t like the sun shining through your window that wakes you up from your slumber. Instead, it was more like the moon softly lighting up the night sky. If you happen to be up in the night and look up into the sky you see the light of the moon. Otherwise, you miss it. Maybe that’s what the glory of God was like which the prophet was trying to describe.

            This past Tuesday morning, the boys didn’t have to go back to school but Kim had to go back to work. There was no way I was going to keep sleeping if she had to get up and go to work in this brutal cold. So I got up too and made my way out as if I was taking the boys to school. I just kept driving, skipping the school as I made my way to the gym. If any of you were also up and about the morning after New Year’s Day, you would have seen a huge, gorgeous full Wolf moon in the lower half of the sky. It was so bright, illuminating the night sky. I kept glancing up at it every chance I got while I was driving down the road. Now, of course, the light the moon was reflecting back to the earth was not bright enough to wake anyone up. And it would have been possible if you were out to not bother to look up at the sky and see the moon. But if you did choose to get out in the cold and look up, you would have seen the moon in all its glory. You would have seen how that light softly embraced everything around you. If you pulled your glove off your hand your skin would have reflected back the soft glow of the moon. The light of the moon was there, whether you saw it or not. And I think that’s the kind of light that the prophet was talking about.

            So maybe we can see the light of God shining upon us if we know to look for it. If we follow verse 4, “Lift up your eyes and look around,” we will see the light. And what does that light look like? The prophet described it in ways that does not describe it for us. When we look up and look around we are not going to see our sons and daughter’s coming to us. We won’t see the abundance of the sea, or the wealth of the nations, or herds of camels. What might we see? We could see the light of children laughing, or the light in the eyes of people who have seen many winters. We could see the light of offering someone a helping hand or the outpouring of support for a family that lost everything in a fire. We could see the light of friends laughing so hard it starts to hurt. We could see the light of a room of sports fans celebrating a victory. I am especially thinking of the fans of the Buffalo Bills who celebrated the victory of the Cincinnati Bengals last week which put their team in the playoffs for the first time since I think the 1990s. I mean tears were streaming down the cheeks of grown men. Maybe we see the light of God’s presence in the soulful singer whose music stirs your heart. Maybe it is the light of the dawning sun on a snow swept frozen lake.

            I think love opens our eyes to see the light of God all around us. I wonder if the Spirit of God can open our eyes, cure it of its blindness, in order to more clearly see God’s presence all around us. Maybe it’s like the Spirit gives us a special kind of glasses that helps us see the glory of God all around us. I’m not talking about rose-colored glasses. I sure don’t have in mind sunglasses. No, it’s as if the Spirit gives us glasses that help us see more clearly, where even in the mess and brokenness of this world we can see the light of God shining through the cracks. They are glasses that help us see what God sees, to see hope, to see love, to see compassion, to see grace, to see possibility, to see glory, to see God’s light.

            I wonder if sometimes we don’t see the light of God’s presence because we are looking down or looking in the wrong direction. You might know what it’s like. When hiking in the woods on an unpaved trail, it’s a good idea to keep your eyes down so you don’t accidentally trip over a tree root. But if you spend the whole hike looking down you miss the scenery. So it’s good to stop frequently and look around so you can see the glory and majesty of the fragrant pines, the tall elm and ash, and the broad oak and maple. Our daily lives can sometimes be like those forest paths. It’s good to keep your eye on where you are going so that you don’t get tripped up. But it’s also important to stop now and then and look around, to see the glory of God’s presence all around you.

            Leslie Newbingin is an evangelist who did much of his work in India. He tells of a time when he and a group of others went to the top of this mountain to pray all night. When the sun began to rise, that was their cue to head back down the mountain. So they gingerly made their way down along the rough path, watching their step in the darkness of early dawn. It was hard to see where they were going. As they were walking down, another group of pilgrims were making their way up. While Leslie and his group were going down, the sun was at their back. But the group going up were facing toward the sun. He remarks how the faces of the group going up reflected the light of the sun. Their faces were glowing in the darkness because they were facing the light.

            That’s the other thing about the light of God’s presence. This light is reflected. We are reflectors, mirrors of God’s glory, shining out into the world. The glory of God is revealed in the world to the extent that the world reflects the light of God’s glory. Look at verse 1 again, “Arise, shine, for your light has come.” We are being asked to stand up and shine with God’s light and glory into the darkness of the world. Remember how I mentioned earlier that the beautiful full moon we experienced earlier this week brightly reflected light to us. Those people going up the mountain were reflecting the light of the sun off of their faces. We are meant to reflect the glory of God that shines on us.

            But how do we reflect the light of God out into the dark world? We do it by joining in on what God is doing in the world. It is by our actions, acts of justice, compassion, mercy, the things God does, it is by these actions that God’s light is reflected out into the world. And, of course, worship reflects the light. A joyful heart reflects the light. Helping those in need reflects the light.

            During this cold snap we have been experiencing, a few churches found themselves in the position to open their doors to their community to be places of warmth and shelter. One such church is in Lancaster. There was one homeless veteran who found his way into the church to get warm. People at the church helped him get connected to the VA in order to arrange more permanent housing. When he was talking to the news reporter, his face was lit up with gratitude for the church opening their doors. But it wasn’t just some of the homeless in the community who came to the church. Other churches in Lancaster chipped in by providing hot meals. People in the community brought over donations of extra shoes and boots, coats, and lots of blankets. What these churches in Lancaster did was reflect the light of God’s presence. The light they reflected was seen by a lot of people, not just those in Lancaster, but everyone like me that watched the news that night on TV. This is one way we reflect the light of God’s presence into this cold, darkened world.

Christmas Eve 2017

Sermon

Christmas Eve – 2017

Based on Luke 2:1-20

Rev. Dr. Kevin Orr

            Here we are again to hear the familiar story of the birth of Jesus, a story that many of us have heard hundreds of times. It’s a story that has become immortalized when Linus takes the stage, the lights dim, and, blanket in hand, he recites the passage from memory from the King James version, to remind Charlie Brown and the rest of us what Christmas is all about.

            We are here again to sing the familiar songs, the great Christmas carols that we have sung hundreds of times and that are sprinkled among the other holiday favorites we have heard on our radios and in the shops like “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”, “Frosty the Snowman”, and “Santa Baby.” Yes, we are here to sing the old familiar carols, especially “Silent Night”, as we light our candles and wonder at the mystery of Christmas.

            Tonight, we are participating in Christmas Eve worship, a tradition that has been passed down from generation to generation. Being together in this space at this time is part of our treasured holiday traditions. As 2017 draws to a close, it is good for us to be together tonight, in community, surrounded by family and friends, people who love us, warm and safe in this place of sanctuary.

            But what was it like that first Christmas, when no one knew the story? When no one had heard any of the songs? There was no trumpet blast. There was no breaking news coverage. No text alerts were received. Strangers did not show up in the market or walk the neighborhood streets Christmas caroling. Of course, there were celebrations going on. The winter solstice marked the beginning of the lengthening days, the light pushing against the dark. That’s reason enough to celebrate. And among the people Israel there was the hopeful expectation that a messiah would come to deliver the people from the oppression of Rome and restore the glory of God’s chosen people, Israel. But when the deliverer came, almost everyone missed it.

            It is amazing to me how God became human, sending the Son into the world to be our deliverer, our savior, our Lord, in such a quiet, stealth, almost secret way. It’s as if God slipped across enemy lines in the cover of darkness. Why God chose this way instead of another is a great mystery and worthy of much pondering.

            The story goes that Augustus Caesar called for a census, that all the peoples under Roman rule would pay a tax. Joseph heads for his home town of Bethlehem, along with Mary, his future wife, who must journey with him in spite of her impending birth. She carried within her womb the one who cannot be contained, the very Son of God, the one whom the angel told her would be named Jesus, whose kingdom would have no end.

            Only a few people knew about who this was in Mary’s womb. Joseph, of course, knew. But also Mary’s aunt, Elizabeth, who had had a revelation of her own. For she, in her old age, carried within her womb the greatest of prophets, John, the one who leaped for joy in her womb when Mary first greeted her. These two pregnant women shared an experience all their own, carrying within their own bodies two people who would turn the world upside down. Yet, who would believe their story?

            As Mary and Joseph enter Bethlehem, the town is full of people. It was so crowded that there was no room even for a poor man and his expectant wife, who actually was not yet his wife. I suspect Joseph kept that to himself. The town was bursting with activity. The scene is depicted in this painting by a Belgian named Pieter Bruegel the Elder in 1566 called “The Numbering at Bethlehem.”

Which of all those people are Mary and Joseph? We are left to guess. The painting makes the point that when Joseph and Mary entered Bethlehem, nobody knew them or what was about to take place. They were just two more people taking up space in a crowded town. Nobody had any idea that the child in Mary’s womb would one day be lifted up on a cross, crucified as a common criminal, only to rise again three days later, as the risen lord. None of the people in the town realized that the child in Mary’s womb would be worshipped by billions of people 2,000 years later, commemorating the night of his birth. Like a whisper, the savior of the world is born in the little town of Bethlehem.

            The shepherds had no idea either. They were on the outskirts of town, out in the hills, just minding their business and tending their sheep. And then, just as Mary and Elizabeth before them, the shepherds had their own angelic visitation. Often paintings of the scene show the sky ripping open, bright light pushing back the darkened sky, and the heavenly host winging their way through the air. There is nothing quiet or stealth about this angelic announcement. But here’s a question: if the appearance of the angels was that impressive, why were the shepherds the only ones who saw the angels? One would think that people in Bethlehem would have taken note of a bright light in the hills outside of town. Surely others would have seen something. But it appears that this message was only directed to these shepherds. Perhaps the appearance was not as sky-splitting as we often imagine it.

            Look at this painting from 1910 by Henry Ossawa Tanner. He is the first African-American painter to receive international acclaim. He was born in Pittsburg, by the way. It may take a minute for you to see the angels.

Rather than ripping open the sky like fireworks, these angels are subtle, blending in to the surrounding hillside. The angels are almost ghost-like. They tower before the little shepherds in the corner of the painting, huddled around the fire. These shepherds, alone, were in the right position to be able to see these shimmering angels, to hear the good news of great joy and to hear the song of glory. What a powerful vision it was. And then, the angels dissipated like mist.

            It wasn’t until after the shepherds heard the good news and heard the singing that they had any idea what had happened that night in Bethlehem. It certainly was news to them, joyous news; news that did not come from some stranger, or from an excited friend. No, it was news from an angel. And having received this good news, the shepherds were prepared to encounter for themselves their savior, their king. They were filled with wonder. They had to take the risk of leaving the sheep unattended, to run into town to see for themselves what the angel had told them. And off they ran, to approach the newborn king, of the line of David, the Christ.

            They entered Bethlehem as the only ones who knew of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. They did not know their names, not even the name of the baby. They did not know what they looked like, only that the child was wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger. They were the only ones in town who knew how special that child was. Being shepherds, they likely knew exactly where the mangers were. They perhaps had fed their own sheep from that very manger where the child king lay.

            After a quick search, they find the baby, just as the angel had described him. And with great excitement, they spoke to the parents, to Mary and Joseph, sharing what an angel had told them about the child. This painting from Cameroon depicts the meeting of the shepherds. Christians from the Mafa people, who live in northern Cameroon, created this painting in the 1970s, one of a series of paintings to help teach others in their tribe about the faith.

            In the midst of all the noise and bustle of Bethlehem, the shepherds, Mary and Joseph speak of the angelic visions they have received. They speak of things no one else is prepared to understand or believe. And as they share these revelations, they encourage each other while Mary held in her lap the incarnate God, the king of kings and the lord of lords, the savior of the world. What a conversation they must have had! I can imagine they were beyond belief that of all the people in the world, they were the ones who first knew and saw the Christ child. They were surely bursting with joy at the glory and wonder of it all, even as people strode past them, paying little attention, as they rushed around to take care of their business. All those people walking past the Christ and having no idea who that baby was. And this is how God came into the world. Like an open secret, hidden in plain sight.

            Perhaps you can understand why when the shepherds told others that people responded with amazement but then moved on with their business. The messiah of Israel is born and the chief priests know nothing of this? Herod has no idea either? The messiah is lying in a feed trough in a barn? Most people in those days didn’t pay much attention to shepherds anyway, or take them very seriously. Their story sounds like a fairy tale.

            But here we are, gathered together to hear the story and to sing the songs while the people around us are running about in the noise and bustle of this time of year, taking care of last minute shopping, running to another party, or taking care of some business. They have probably heard the story as well. Who hasn’t seen “A Charlie Brown Christmas?” But life has more pressing matters. The story of the Son of God being born in the little town of Bethlehem and lying in a manger because there was no room at the inn is the stuff of children’s Christmas plays. It’s a nice story. Perhaps it’s just a fairy tale.

            It’s not a fairy tale for us. We have received the revelation ourselves. The story has found its home in our hearts and deep in our souls. Something deep within us believes this story to be true. We have heard the good news. We have sung the songs passed down from generation to generation. And now, with great expectation, we hope to encounter for ourselves again the wonder of God entering the world as a baby.

            Come, draw near in your imagination, from the depth of your soul, and see for yourself the newborn king, our savior. He is here to meet us at this table of bread and wine. He is here to meet us in the beauty of candle light. He is here to meet us as we sing “Christ the Savior is born. Christ the savior is born.”

Sermon on the Third Sunday in Advent

Based on 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

           Through this season of Advent, I’ve been referring back to the story of the prodigal son to talk about the journey toward home. The season of Advent is sort of like being on a journey toward home. For some of us, we will literally be going home to mom and dad’s house. For some of us, the journey home is a journey of memories of our childhood. For most of us, we are on the journey home in the sense that we are moving toward the time when our family or friends gather together to experience our holiday traditions. Coming home for Christmas is something many people look forward to this time of year.

            Our Advent journey began two weeks ago. On that Sunday I talked about how the prodigal son realized being home with his father was better than being stuck with this mess. It wasn’t just the feeding of pigs as a hired hand. It was a life that he had thrown away. He had lost so much. He had so many regrets. He was lost and alone. He knew life had to be better back home with his dad. So he decided to head back to home. He still had his regrets. He still had his issues, his mess. But he was heading home, which was a good thing.

            Just so, we find ourselves in a messy world that we wish God would come down and fix. Of course, we are not responsible for the entire mess. Be we still have done our part to mess up the world in which we live. Rather than sitting in the mess, the better action is to acknowledge the mess we are in and decide to look to Jesus, live our lives as Jesus lived, walk in Jesus’ steps toward our true home.

            Last week we moved closer toward home. I talked about how the prodigal son cut through his shame, doubt, regret, and stayed focused on the right thing to do which was to make a path toward home. In the same way, we are challenged to cut through the mess in which we live, the confusing jungle of this world, and create a path toward home. As we do this we discover that God is right behind us, guiding us day by day as we do the right thing. We can clear a path in the world to make room for God to walk through as we make our way through life.

            Today, as we begin the third week of our journey, we can see home from a distance. It is right over the hill. The prodigal son has been seen by his father who happened to have been scanning the horizon. His father runs to his son and embraces him, full of joy that his son is back. At that moment, it no longer mattered what his son had done, the mistakes he made, the mess that was his life. All that mattered was that he was home with his dad. It was a time to rejoice.

            Today is a day of rejoicing. When we light the advent wreath shortly the pink candle will be lighted. We light the pink candle to mark this day of rejoicing. The scripture given us to hear this morning begins with “rejoice always.”

            Maybe you were like me when I heard “rejoice always.” Maybe you said to yourself, “Always? Even in times of tragedy? Come on.” How can we rejoice when we are sad or afraid or even angry? There are times of hardship and tragedy in which rejoicing does not seem possible. What’s to rejoice about when your world is falling apart?

            Earlier this week, I met the plumber at our house to take care of a little issue. When he was getting ready to go he wished me “Merry Christmas.” He said he felt he could do that because he saw our Christmas tree and saw this saying I have in a picture frame that says “I am a child of God.” So, he said he assumed I was a Christian and that it would be o.k. to say “Merry Christmas.” I said, “Yeah, you figured me out.” He told me that the past few days he has dealt with a lot of grumpy people. He wasn’t sure if they wanted to hear “Merry Christmas” from him. He hadn’t seen a lot of Christmas spirit lately. I was glad we could share a little Christmas spirit right then. I hoped that he had more joyful people to deal with the rest of the day. You know, maybe the plumber had been dealing with grumpy people lately because they were angry about their plumbing problems. But maybe it is the stress of the season, the shorter days, the lack of sunlight that makes people grumpy. Maybe you have been a little grumpy lately. And then you come in here and are told to rejoice always. How can anyone be up and cheery all the time?

            But maybe rejoicing doesn’t mean the same as being happy and chipper. No one can be happy all the time. But is it possible to rejoice all the time? I think so because rejoicing is not a passing feeling. It is something that goes deeper.

            If you look at a concordance of the Bible, the word “happy” or “happiness” does show up in several places. But “joy” or “rejoice” is found everywhere in scripture. There’s over fifty times the word shows up just in the Psalms. It is scattered all through the prophets. Jesus talked a lot about rejoicing. Paul talked lots and lots about rejoicing. Happiness…not so much.

            Being happy and being joyful are not the same thing. To me, being happy is a feeling that comes and goes depending on my mood or the situation. When the sun is out after many days of cloudy skies, I’m happy. When I glance over the dessert table and see pecan pie, I’m happy. Joy is something deeper. The source of joy comes from the depths of our soul. In fact, it has been my experience that joy emerges most powerfully during times of sorrow, stress and disappointment.

            Several years ago, I was serving a church that was a bad match. It was awful. I felt like a failure. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a pastor any more. I was hurting. But then at annual conference we gathered for opening worship. We were not one minute into the first song when tears started streaming down my face. I was not overcome with happiness. I was still sad. The pain was still there. But when worship started, and voices were lifted up in song, I was overcome with joy because the music reminded me that I still belonged to God, that I was still loved, in spite of the disappointment, sorrow and doubt. I was still a child of God, no matter what. Claiming that truth unleashed joy from deep within.

            Take note of 2 Cor. 6:8-10. Paul is talking about his experience as a missionary. He writes, “We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet are well known; as dying, and see – we are alive; as punished, and yet not killed.” Wow, that sounds pretty tough and discouraging yet hopeful in spite of all the struggle. Now hear this, picking up at vs.10, “As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.” See, Paul carried a lot of sorrow while always rejoicing. He wasn’t always happy. In fact, he could be downright angry. But he was also always rejoicing. How is this possible?

            Being sorrowful and rejoicing at the same time already sounds impossible, but that’s not the only impossible task Paul talks about in the passage we heard this morning. We were told to rejoice always, pray without ceasing, and give thanks in all circumstances. Wow. That does not sound easy.

            I guess in a bad situation you can at least say to yourself, “I’m thankful that things aren’t worse” or “people have it worse off than I do so I can be thankful for that.” But I don’t know if that makes things better, to be thankful that others have it worse than you. Sure, your loved one could have a worse cancer than she has, and you can be thankful for that, but it’s still cancer and that’s nothing to be thankful for.

            And pray without ceasing? I would run out of things to say! God doesn’t want to hear me talking all day. And how am I supposed to pray when I’m asleep?

            There’s too much to unpack here in these three directives that Paul gives us. I will tell you that in January I am going to lead a class on prayer and I encourage you take it. We are going to talk about what prayer is and practice different ways of prayer. You might discover that life itself is a kind of prayer. Be looking for more info soon.

            So what about this giving thanks in all circumstances business? Well, let’s think about this. When the father had his prodigal son back you better believe he was thankful. Was he thankful when his son was gone? I don’t know. But it is clear that the only thing that mattered in that moment was that his son was back. He was so thankful to have his son in his arms. Maybe this is what it means for us to be thankful in every circumstance. We can be thankful that God is with us to guide us and encourage us in every circumstance. We can be thankful that we are never alone or without help. We can be thankful that we are always in God’s embrace in every circumstance.

            When the prodigal son’s brother didn’t join the celebration, his dad said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.” Sometimes we feel lost. Sometimes we feel dead inside. But I want you to know that you are not lost to God. The one who is full of compassion and mercy is always with us, no matter what, and for this reason alone we can give thanks in every situation and rejoice always.

            So it’s ok to feel sad, to lament. There is a lot of lamenting that goes on in the Bible as well. And there is plenty to lament about in these days. We all know what it is to lament from time to time, to feel the weight of loss and regret. There’s nothing wrong with that. I would say it is better to lament than to feel nothing at all. It is better to be sad than to be jaded and cynical. It’s even ok to be lost and confused. Life is confusing! Just hold on to these words that Paul wrote, “May the God of peace keep your spirit, soul and body sound and blameless. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do this.” God is always calling out to us, God is faithful, God embraces us, God even rejoices in us. That’s what God does. And we can too.

            I want to close with one of my favorite scriptures. It is from the prophet Habakkuk. I’ll give you a dollar if you can grab a Bible and turn to Habakkuk in 30 seconds or less. He sang these words many centuries ago: “Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; though the produce of the olive fails, and the fields yield no food; though the flock is cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, and makes me tread upon the heights.” Whether we are full or empty, ready or not, Christmas is coming. We are almost home. So let us rejoice in the Lord and be thankful that we are held in God’s embrace.

Sermon on the Second Sunday of Advent

Sermon

Dec. 10, 2017

Second Sunday in Advent – Year B

Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13

           

            When it was time for lights out in my house growing up, my dad would come upstairs where mine and my sister’s bedrooms were. He would turn off my light, say good night, and close my door. This little ritual that took place most nights gave me a sense of security. My mom was a homemaker. This meant that I never came home after school to an empty house. Back in those days we only had one T.V. There were many evenings when my sister and I would be in the living room watching T.V. while dad sat in his green upholstered lazy boy that had a massage feature controlled by a black dial. He would be sitting there reading the paper or a book. And mom would be somewhere else in the house doing something. At dinner time we would all sit around the table at the same places. Dad would say grace. Denise and I would try to make each other laugh when one of us was drinking their milk to see if we could get the other to squirt milk out their nose. Being at home with mom and dad when I was growing up was a place of comfort and mostly peace. My sister would tell you I was more often the instigator although I will always deny it.

            Our family had traditions throughout the year that brought us together. We always took a vacation in August. We got in the station wagon towing a pop up trailer and drove all through the west, stopping at KOA camps and visiting the surrounding sites. And then a month or so after we got back my dad would set up the slide projector, set up the screen, load up the carousel and we would review our adventures one slide click at a time. And, of course, we had our Christmas traditions. Denise and I would sneak down in the middle of the night to peak and see what lay under the tree. And then, when it was too early, we would slip in to mom and dad’s room to wake them up so we could open our presents. Later in the day we went to my dad’s brother’s house for dinner and to watch football. We would then drive home later that night. I would look out the car window, looking at the stars, full of contentment, my eyes heavy with sleep.

            I hope my experience growing up was like yours. I hope you have a lot of fond memories of growing up, that you had a mom and dad that were there for you, giving you a sense of security. I hope your childhood was, for the most part, a peaceful one. I hope you grew up with family traditions that brought the family together, especially around Christmas time. Family traditions centered around being together at home is so much of what this season is about.

            Of course, for many of us, the homes of our childhood are gone. We no longer live where we grew up. Our moms and dads have passed away. Some of us have lost some or all of our siblings as well. Some of us have lost a spouse. We don’t do Christmas now like we used to growing up. The memories are all we have now. They are precious. Those memories stir up a sense of comfort, a good dose of sentimentality. But we can’t relive our childhood. Our lives move in one direction.

            We still need to experience security and comfort. We still need to have moments where we are surrounded by those who love us, a space where there is peace. We build our own families, get married, have our own children. Or we make friends who are like family to us. We surround ourselves with people who care about us, who are faithful to us, who love us through thick and thin. And we make new traditions, or modify the ones we grew up with. One of my traditions I picked up after my parents passed away was to stop by Kim’s parent’s house, where I would help her mom make snickerdoodle cookies and home-made lasagna for friends and neighbors. We do what we can so that our homes can be a space that is secure and peaceful. Not always peaceful. But we try to do what is right, treating those we love with respect, extend grace, offer and receive forgiveness, serve each other, so that those we are bound to by love are cared for and safe.

            This is part of what the season of Advent is about. This time of year is a time of family traditions. We think about the people we send or receive holiday cards from. We pay attention to what our loved ones are interested in and what they would appreciate as we purchase gifts. Our friendships are deepened as we have get-togethers and holiday parties, full of laughter and occasionally a white elephant gift exchange. We experience a sense of togetherness when we join strangers to marvel at holiday lights, attend various Christmas concerts, and later welcome in the new year. And let’s not forget the magic of lighting our candles and singing Silent Night on Christmas Eve. Now is the time to do those things that bring us together, that foster in us a sense of peace, of being whole, our best selves.

            We need this season of Advent, especially in these times. There is so much negativity in our world. Everything is politicized and polarized. There is so much division and resentment. There is uncertainty about where we are as a nation and what the future holds. It is like a world is a thick jungle of mess. In this jungle we sometimes don’t know which direction is the right one. There is confusion all around. Is the tax plan passing through congress a good thing or a bad thing? Was President Trump recognizing Jerusalem as the capitol of Israel a step toward peace or not? Those are just a few of the big political issues entangling our life together. You can name your own questions and struggles you have to try to figure out. What’s the right thing to do? What is God’s will in this situation?

            The 13^th verse of Psalm 85 goes like this: “Righteousness will go before him, and will make a path for his steps.” Him is referring to God. Who is righteousness? How does righteousness make a path for God’s steps? This verse prompted me to imagine someone with a machete hacking her way through a dense jungle, clearing a path for the group, especially for the V.I.P. in the group. That got me to thinking. Last week we talked about how sometime we wish God would just show up and fix things. But today’s scripture makes me wonder that for God to show up there is some advance work that we need to do. Maybe we need to cut our way through the jungle that we find ourselves in, this jungle of confusion, of divisiveness and rancor. We cut our way through the mess by how we live our lives day by day, doing the right thing moment by moment. And as we slog our way through the jungle we discover that God is right there with us, walking along the path that we are making.

            But where is our path heading? What direction is your life going?

            This made me think of the prodigal son. We talked about him last week too. I said that when the prodigal son took stock of his life and the mess he was in, he realized that things would be better for him if he was at home with his father. So he decided to go back home. He still had his baggage. He had not gotten rid of his mess. But at least he was going back home. To go back home, for the prodigal son, was the righteous thing to do. And so he made his way back, cutting through the thickets of doubt, of guilt, of shame, of regret, of sadness, staying focused on returning home. And when he made it back home he was embraced by his father. He experienced the steadfast love of his father. He felt whole again, at peace. In that moment, when the prodigal son and the father embraced, it was as if steadfast love and faithfulness had met, righteousness and peace kissed each other. The prodigal son heard his father speak peace to him. The father spoke to his son who had turned his heart back to his father. The path through the thickets had led to home.

            Now is the time for us to cut through the thickets in our own lives and make our way back home. We have our holiday traditions that help get us there, to get us back home, wherever home is for you, that home where you feel secure and at peace. I know this time of year can be pretty noisy. But in those still, quiet moments we may hear the voice speak to us, a voice that speaks of peace. We may hear again words of forgiveness. We may yet experience again God’s steadfast love and faithfulness toward us. If we pay attention, cut through all the noise and distraction, and focus on making our way back to home, we may yet experience the warm embrace of our God who whispers into our ears, “You are safe. You are loved. You are back home now.”

Sermon: First Sunday of Advent 2017

Sermon

Dec. 3, 2017

First Sunday in Advent – Year B

Isaiah 64:1-9

            

            Have you ever wished God would just rip open the sky, come down and fix things? I have. It is difficult to watch scenes of despair as famine ravages the land, seeing the hollow eyes and distended bellies of children. It is difficult to see towns and villages blown apart by bombs and machine gun fire like we have seen in Syria. We have seen hundreds of thousands of people flee their homes seeking safety, even survival, going over land or crossing the sea into Europe, a refugee crisis that has not been seen since World War II. We have seen an uptick in hateful speech, threats and harm against people labeled as “other” whether they be transgendered, Muslim, or Mexican. There is so much going on in the world that is out of whack, a time in which it would be great if God would just come on down here and clean up this mess.

            Of course, it wasn’t the exact same issues when the prophet wrote these words that were read this morning, beginning with that cry, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” For them, this was when they were returning from their exile in Babylon. They were going back home, to Jerusalem, to rebuild the city and the temple and do the hard work of bringing Israel back to its glorious days of old. But when they got back, they discovered that their rebuilding plans were not going to be so easy. There were other gods being worshipped in the land. Other peoples were living there, had established villages and towns, and they had their own ways of doing things. Israel’s God was not a god that was recognized by the people living in Palestine when the Israelites returned from exile. It was a different world. And so the prophet spoke the longings of his people for God to show up and let these people who had moved in who the god of this land was. They wanted God to shake some mountains, to make a name for himself again so that the nations would know that the God of Israel was back and demanded respect.

            They knew what God had done in the past. They remembered the ancient stories that had been passed down from generation to generation, of how God came down on Mt. Sinai to give Moses the Ten Commandments, and how the mountain shook. They knew the story of how God sent those plagues against the Egyptians, divided the Red Sea in two so that their ancestors could escape from slavery, and led them through the wilderness and then drove out the peoples that lived in the land of Canaan, the holy land, the land they were seeking to reclaim after their exile. They carried with them the stories of what God was capable of. It was this God that they wanted to see active again, to make his presence known.

            We believe these stories as well. As Christians we also believe that God acted 2000 years ago by becoming a human being, working miracles, healing people, teaching the way that leads to life, and then suffering and dying as a common criminal, executed by the state, only to rise on the third day and promise the sending of the Holy Spirit on all people, promising that he will be with us always, even to the end of the age, promising that we will live forever.

            We have heard stories of how the Spirit of God has acted, changing the hearts of people, converting individuals, families, communities, nations. The church of twelve located in Jerusalem is now the church of billions spread across the globe. God did that. This church exists by the action of God. God has acted in your life and in mine, in small and in big ways. In fact, your very existence is something that God had a hand in. We look around this room and see the activity of God.

            But it doesn’t seem enough. The world is broken. And we long for God to come and fix this broken world. We want to be hopeful, that it isn’t too late for God to act, to make things right, to bring the nations together, to have a world where there is peace, where everyone can thrive, where nature is rebalanced and healthy. We want to hope that things can be better than they are, and that God can and will make sure that this happens.

            But will God actually rip open the sky and come down? Will God finally get to the point where God says, “That’s it! I can’t take it anymore! I’m taking matters into my own hands!” If that’s the way it’s going to be, how bad does it need to get for God to take action? What’s the hold up?

            This leads to another question. You know, we have been waiting for the Lord to come back for about 2000 years now. He still hasn’t come back. You could say each day that passes is one day closer to the Lord’s return. I have said that myself. But I wonder. How bad does it have to get for Jesus to come back? I mean, you would have thought the Lord would have come back during the Black Plague when between 1346 and 1353, just eight years, it is estimated that anywhere from 75 million to 200 million people died in Europe and Asia. And remember, there were a lot fewer people living on the earth back then. A lot of Christians those days were convinced they were living in the end times. Yet, we are still here. I know many, if not all of us, have wished that God would come back and fix things. It is part of our tradition as Christians to look for that time when Jesus will come in final victory and we will feast at his heavenly banquet. And yet, here we are in this mess.

            When the prophet wrote these words all those years ago, a few hundred years before Jesus was born, he confronted the issue of why God had not shown up or made God’s presence known to the nations. He said that their sin as a people had prompted God to hide God’s face from them. He said all of the people were like one who is unclean. Even their good deeds were like filthy rags. In other words, the prophet made it clear that all of them, individually and as a people, had made a mess of things. Ultimately, the broken world in which they lived was the consequence of human actions and much of those actions were of their hand. The prophet acknowledged their complicity in the mess.

            Did you know that “complicit” was the word of the year according to Dictionary.com? Search for the word spiked when Ivanka Trump, in an interview, said in a response to a question that she did not know what “complicit” means. Apparently, a lot of other people didn’t either. For the record, the word means “choosing to be involved in an illegal or questionable act, especially with others.”

            Doing something illegal is likely not anything we would be caught up in. But what about a “questionable act”? That can get a little murky. I wonder if there are things we do that could be questionable but we don’t see it that way or think about it. For example, most of us like chicken wings. Or when our kids were young we would run through the McDonald’s drive-thru to get some chicken nuggets. How were those chickens raised? Were they raised among thousands of other chickens, crammed inside a sterile facility? If those chickens that became our Buffalo wild wings were raised in an inhumane manner, are we complicit when we purchase and eat those wings?

            There’s this little joke that Kim and I have when she tells me about the great deal she got on clothes when she buys them at Kohl’s. I ask her half in jest, “You know why those clothes are so cheap? Because the children that made them are only paid a couple dollars a day.” I don’t know if that’s true. But what about the people from Malaysia and Bangladesh who make our cheap clothes? Do they make a living wage? If not, are we complicit when we buy those clothes?

            These days nearly all of us have smart phones. Some of us have more than one, one for work and another for personal use. Inside of each of these phones are various precious metals. Those metals have to be mined. What are the safety conditions of those who mine the metals that go into these phones? If they are unsafe, are we complicit when we buy these phones?

            The truth is that there is a lot of injustice and oppression in our world. Someone is responsible for it. But it isn’t always easy to know who to blame or who is responsible. What I am trying to suggest is that the conveniences that we enjoy, cheap food, cheap clothes, not exactly cheap smart phones, may indirectly contribute to the suffering of those who make these products or harvest our food. The health of the earth is impacted by our consumption. Directly or indirectly, our lives are entangled with those who suffer and our convenience may be on the backs of their unjust suffering. All of this is to say that just as the prophet said all those years ago, we are all unclean. We are all like dried up leaves blown around by the wind.

            I know, that sounds pretty gloomy. Where’s your holiday spirit, Pastor Kevin? For those of us here who already feel a little blue, I don’t mean to add more weight to your shoulders. The point I’m trying to make here is that we are all in this together. None of us are pure. In varying degrees, we all have the stain of sin. We are all compromised. We are all complicit. We are all in need of forgiveness.

            And here’s the really good news. We still belong to God. That’s what the prophet wrote. He said, “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father, we are the clay, and you are our potter…We are all your people.” This is the situation: we have all become like one who is unclean and we are the work of God’s hand. What God makes is precious. You and I are precious. But our actions through life gets us knocked around, blemished, out of kilter. Nevertheless, we still belong to God. And God can still work on us, reshape us, as a potter works the clay.

            That reshaping starts when we are honest with ourselves, how we are living our lives. Any time is a good time to take stock of our lives, confess what we need to confess, and turn back toward God. We say a prayer of confession every Sunday at church. It’s an old Christian spiritual practice to end each day going over in your mind what happened that day and consider what went well and where you fell short, an examination of your conscience. As we draw to the end of the year it is a good time to consider how we are doing in our relationship with God and in the relationships we have with others close to us. Maybe there is some confessing we need to make. Maybe we need to turn back toward God. Maybe there are people in our lives we need to turn back toward.

            When the prodigal son stopped and took stock of his life, the mess he had made of things, it dawned on him that his life would be much better if he was back home with his father. So he decided to turn back toward home. He still had his baggage. His world was still a mess. But he believed it would be better for him if he was back home with his father. As we stop and take stock of our lives, and the mess of the world in which we live, something we all have had a small hand in creating, we do this now in the season of Advent, the time when we prepare to celebrate again the birth of Jesus. Now is the time for us, as the prodigal son, to take stock of our lives, to remember that we belong to God, whose love for us is relentless, in spite of the mess we have made. Now is the time for us to turn back toward home.

churning the milk into butter

For some time I have had a practice to read a selection from the writings of Howard Thurman during my morning devotional time. Today's reading seemed appropriate in light of the fact that I successfully defended my thesis yesterday. Thurman was reflecting on a line from an old Hindu poem: "Thou hast to churn the milk, O Disciple, if thou desirest to taste the butter." (Deep is the Hunger, Harper, reprint, 1990, pg. 27) How true. It is not good enough to think to yourself that churned milk becomes butter. If you want that milk to become butter, you have to churn it. Theory must become praxis to enjoy the fruits.

Well, I have my milk (my thesis) in the butter churn. It would be an absolute shame if that milk just sits there without me churning it (put my ideas and proposals into practice). If I choose to allow this work to just sit there and don't work with it, well, you can imagine what would happen if milk just sat in the butter churn but no churning took place. The milk won't become butter all by itself. It would make quite a stench.

I am very excited that I was able to get my thesis finished. I am proud of it. And I am convinced that the ideas I start working out can have a positive impact on the world. But that won't happen if I sit that thesis in the cloud and do nothing with it. So, here's hoping that I will not move on, but let this thesis be the beginning of the rest of my life's work.

I've got a few minor edits to do, and then it will be ready for public consumption. I will probably post a link on my blog so that you can access my thesis if you wish to read it.