I went to church with my parents this morning. It's always a coming home of sorts, returning to the church of my childhood, worshipping in the same elementary school gym that has, over the years, become sanctified space for me. Today the woman who read the epistle reading happened to be the person who, more than anyone else in my life, taught me while I was still in elementary school about the importance of things like projecting your voice and using clear pronunciation when reading in church that are lessons that I carry with me as a preacher to this day. The people in this congregation have watched me grow up since I was a little girl, for better or for worse, and the passing of the peace becomes a 'welcome home' with as many hugs shared as handshakes. This is a place where I know without question that I am loved and that I belong. These are my people.
Today's gospel reading was the well-known story of Jesus' late-night conversation with Nicodemus, found in John 3:1-17. About what it means to be born again, about the wind of the Spirit that blows wherever it pleases, about what is necessary in order to have eternal life.
The minister's sermon was a good one. But the whole time he was speaking about our tendency to want to manage the good news and wrap it in religious rituals that allow us to hold it, to own it, to wrap our hands around it, I recognized a different message taking root in me--the sermon that I wanted to hear someone preach. The words that I needed to hear this morning, more than any others.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." (John 3:16) Probably the most widely recognized verse in the Bible. Probably so over-quoted that we preachers tend to avoid preaching on it because it so easily falls into the realm of cliche.
But this morning, I was drawn to those six words as if they were somehow highlighted on the page: "For God so loved the world."
The thing is, I've been pushing hard lately. My tendency is to find my limits, and then push just a little harder to see if I can stretch things a bit more, eke out a little more productivity before I hit the wall. Lately, it feels more like I'm hitting the wall and bouncing off--I'm done. I have found my limit. And now that I have arrived at the threshold of a week off, it's a tough adjustment to decelerate from the 120 km/h that I've come to take for granted, to reconnect with myself and with my Creator, to relearn how to rest, to remember what I enjoy and what gives me life.
And in this in-between space in which I find myself, I find myself needing re-grounding. I need to be reminded of the very basic things of who I am and of who God is. To be reminded of why I was called to this ministry in the first place. To be brought back to my first loves one more time.
In this liminal space this morning, my heart's longing was not for a sermon about our tendency to oversimplify the gospel to a set of 'spiritual laws' that tell us exactly what we need to know in order to be born again, as much as we need that reminder. It wasn't for a sermon about a God who is bigger than we can hold onto, although that's true as well.
I just needed to hear these six words: "For God so loved the world..." I just needed to be reminded that this whole thing--all of Scripture, all of life as a follower of Jesus, hinges on this basic truth: I am deeply loved by the God who loved the world. We all are.
Nothing in seminary could have prepared me for the actual experience of ministry, for those moments in which I am overwhelmed by the inner certainty of God's love for one of the ones I'm called to care for. Nothing could have prepared me for the actual experience of sitting with one of these dear ones, listening to her fears and questions and doubts, all the while carrying within me an overwhelming experience of the love of God for her which she herself cannot hold onto in that moment. So I hold this precious gift, this love, until she's ready to receive it, returned to her in doses that she is able to absorb, because it's too big to be held all at once.
Nothing in seminary could have prepared me for the moment when, preaching, I know--I just know--that particular words are intended for a particular congregation member. So, as I speak, I look in his direction, and our eyes meet, and for an instant, I'm the vessel through which God speaks to one of His dear ones.
Nothing in seminary could have prepared me for these moments when I get to experience the immense love of God, for an instant, and understand with certainty the truth that John proclaims: "God is love...We love because God first loved us." (1 John 4:16, 19).
And in those moments, I'm reminded that as overwhelming as it is to sense deep within the extent of God's love for one of His dearly beloved, so great is his love for each one of us. Including me.
That's what I needed to hear this morning. That I'm loved. It's that simple. Not the most intellectually challenging message. No 'aha' moment. No lightbulbs going on. Nothing fancy at all. Just the reminder that, when I've hit the wall, even here God's love can find me, his hand can guide me, his presence will hold me fast.
So many words have been written and spoken about this God thing--entire sections of libraries, entire bookstores dedicated to explaining it. And yet, so often I think, its this simple truth that we really need to hear, that distills the whole thing to its essence. It's a love thing.
(With apologies to Twin Kennedy, whose song inspired the title for this blog post.)
Today's gospel reading was the well-known story of Jesus' late-night conversation with Nicodemus, found in John 3:1-17. About what it means to be born again, about the wind of the Spirit that blows wherever it pleases, about what is necessary in order to have eternal life.
The minister's sermon was a good one. But the whole time he was speaking about our tendency to want to manage the good news and wrap it in religious rituals that allow us to hold it, to own it, to wrap our hands around it, I recognized a different message taking root in me--the sermon that I wanted to hear someone preach. The words that I needed to hear this morning, more than any others.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." (John 3:16) Probably the most widely recognized verse in the Bible. Probably so over-quoted that we preachers tend to avoid preaching on it because it so easily falls into the realm of cliche.
But this morning, I was drawn to those six words as if they were somehow highlighted on the page: "For God so loved the world."
The thing is, I've been pushing hard lately. My tendency is to find my limits, and then push just a little harder to see if I can stretch things a bit more, eke out a little more productivity before I hit the wall. Lately, it feels more like I'm hitting the wall and bouncing off--I'm done. I have found my limit. And now that I have arrived at the threshold of a week off, it's a tough adjustment to decelerate from the 120 km/h that I've come to take for granted, to reconnect with myself and with my Creator, to relearn how to rest, to remember what I enjoy and what gives me life.
And in this in-between space in which I find myself, I find myself needing re-grounding. I need to be reminded of the very basic things of who I am and of who God is. To be reminded of why I was called to this ministry in the first place. To be brought back to my first loves one more time.
In this liminal space this morning, my heart's longing was not for a sermon about our tendency to oversimplify the gospel to a set of 'spiritual laws' that tell us exactly what we need to know in order to be born again, as much as we need that reminder. It wasn't for a sermon about a God who is bigger than we can hold onto, although that's true as well.
I just needed to hear these six words: "For God so loved the world..." I just needed to be reminded that this whole thing--all of Scripture, all of life as a follower of Jesus, hinges on this basic truth: I am deeply loved by the God who loved the world. We all are.
Nothing in seminary could have prepared me for the actual experience of ministry, for those moments in which I am overwhelmed by the inner certainty of God's love for one of the ones I'm called to care for. Nothing could have prepared me for the actual experience of sitting with one of these dear ones, listening to her fears and questions and doubts, all the while carrying within me an overwhelming experience of the love of God for her which she herself cannot hold onto in that moment. So I hold this precious gift, this love, until she's ready to receive it, returned to her in doses that she is able to absorb, because it's too big to be held all at once.
Nothing in seminary could have prepared me for the moment when, preaching, I know--I just know--that particular words are intended for a particular congregation member. So, as I speak, I look in his direction, and our eyes meet, and for an instant, I'm the vessel through which God speaks to one of His dear ones.
Nothing in seminary could have prepared me for these moments when I get to experience the immense love of God, for an instant, and understand with certainty the truth that John proclaims: "God is love...We love because God first loved us." (1 John 4:16, 19).
And in those moments, I'm reminded that as overwhelming as it is to sense deep within the extent of God's love for one of His dearly beloved, so great is his love for each one of us. Including me.
That's what I needed to hear this morning. That I'm loved. It's that simple. Not the most intellectually challenging message. No 'aha' moment. No lightbulbs going on. Nothing fancy at all. Just the reminder that, when I've hit the wall, even here God's love can find me, his hand can guide me, his presence will hold me fast.
So many words have been written and spoken about this God thing--entire sections of libraries, entire bookstores dedicated to explaining it. And yet, so often I think, its this simple truth that we really need to hear, that distills the whole thing to its essence. It's a love thing.
(With apologies to Twin Kennedy, whose song inspired the title for this blog post.)
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