There are so many memories of that wonderful time away. One in particular I recalled this past week. Melissa and I decided one morning to walk across the BrooklynBridge. Obviously it is a terrific tourist destination and on this 75 degree summer day the bridge was crowded with sightseers. I read that more than 4000 pedestrians and 3100 cyclists cross the bridge each day and I understand why. The BrooklynBridge is an American icon – it stands for immigrant populations that made New York their home; it lifts up human sacrifice and ingenuity; it inspires people from all cultures and continents with its height and beauty.

We walked the bridge and stopped often for pictures, to look over the harbor and to breathe in the beauty of the 130 year old bridge. The bridge was designed by John Roebling, a German immigrant and engineer. While inspecting footings for the bridge, his foot was pinched between great stones and ultimately infection led to an amputation. When the limb became infected again, John Roebling died. He left the project in the hands of his son Washington Roebling. Washington too, fell victim to a debilitating illness that left him bed ridden. It was at this point that Washington Roebling’s wife, Emily, stepped in as the first woman field engineer and saw out the completion of the BrooklynBridge.

As the only person to visit her husband during his sickness, Emily was to relay information from Washington to his assistants and report the progress of work on the bridge. She developed an extensive knowledge of strength of materials, stress analysis, cable construction, through Washington’s teachings. For the next fourteen years, Emily’s dedication to the completion of the BrooklynBridge was unyielding. She took over much of the chief engineer’s duties, including day-to-day supervision and project management. She dealt with politicians, competing engineers, and all those associated with the work on the bridge to the point where people believed she was behind the bridge’s design!

At the official opening in 1883, carrying a rooster as a sign of victory, Emily Roebling was the first to cross the bridge by carriage. At the opening ceremony, Emily was honored in a speech by the mayor of New York who said that the bridge was an everlasting monument to the sacrificing devotion of one woman. Today the BrooklynBridge holds a plaque dedicated to the memory of Emily, her husband, and her father-in-law.

I remember standing before that plaque with Melissa not so very long ago and telling her what a wonderful homily that story would make. Don’t we all need someone behind us to complete our greatest works? In my life I think of presiding on Sunday mornings and how Melissa is my co-creator in preaching. I think of the musicians and readers, greeters and hosts, the altar guild and staff people who make the liturgies “happen.” I am reminded of how often I turn to my colleagues in ministry for direction and inspiration. I think of all my friends and family members who support me and love me and encourage me. The truth is, everything I do and everything I am is a result of the sacrificing devotion of others. And this is true for each of us.

Who are the people who stand beside and behind you? Who are the people who lift you up and allow you to do great things? Who are the ones who sacrifice for you? Perhaps this season of summer will provide a moment of leisure for you to reflect on your life and to be grateful for those who are your co-creators. Even more, perhaps each of us will find an opportunity to tell of our gratitude. Nothing we do is ever done alone. Be aware of who has helped you in life, be grateful for these people of sacrifice, and most of all, speak your words of love and gratitude.

One day a dozen children gathered at his window and peeked inside his house to watch him work. Spiros carefully chose his wood and carved it down to size. Then he gently sanded the edges and drilled a hole throughout the length. Slipping in the thin graphite rod he finally capped the end with a piece of rubber for the eraser and crimped it on with a piece of thin metal. Finally he stamped his name with a hot iron – “Spiros!” Then the old man did the oddest thing – he set the pencil before him and spoke to it.

Now listen up little pencil! If you are to make a difference in the world, there are five things that you need to know before I send you out to an artist or a writer, an accountant or a child. Always remember these five things – never forget them – and you will become the best pencil you can be!

The first thing is to remember that you will be able to do a great many things, but only if you put yourself in someone else’s hands. Second, from time to time you experience a painful sharpening, but remember this will make you a better pencil. Third, always keep in mind that mistakes will be made, but mistakes can always be corrected. Erase your mistakes, start again, and move on. Fourth, and this is key – the most important part of you is what is on the inside. And last of all – upon every surface that you are used you must leave your mark. No matter what happens along the way, you must continue to write. Do all of these things and you will be extraordinary!

Spiros put the pencil onto a pile with many others, rose from his workbench and walked to the open window where the children were standing. What I have said is not just for magical pencils. Live like this my little friends and you too will be extraordinary. The children did remember what Spiros taught them, and lived happily every after.

This is such a simple little fairytale but with a much deeper meaning. As Christian disciples we too can lead extraordinary lives but we must place ourselves into the hands of God. It was Mother Teresa who said: I feel like a pencil in God’s hand, and however imperfect an instrument I might be, God always writes beautifully! Each day we must live in such a way that we are instruments in the hands of the Divine. Then we must trust that we will be used as instruments of healing and wholeness, peace and Good News to others. First and foremost we are pencils in the hands of God.

This parable also causes us to look at the setbacks and trials of our lives against an infinite horizon. Perhaps the trials and tribulations of our life can soften us to the pain around us. Perhaps we can arise from setbacks ever stronger and more resolved. The moments of failure can sharpen us even more than the moments of triumph. And certainly each of us needs to remember that mistakes are not what define us as Christians. As I mention so often in my preaching: We are not defined even by our greatest mistakes and sins – we are defined by the mercy of God that comes to us in Jesus Christ. Mistakes will be made. The trick is to accept God’s mercy, correct our mistakes and begin again.

Like the story of Spiros and the pencil, Jesus was always trying to tell his disciples that it was what was on the inside that was most important. The world saw them as simple fisherman, or tax collectors, or poor peasant men and women. On the inside however, they were children of God! They were of infinite worth! They were extraordinary! And most of all, Jesus was commanding his followers to go out into the world and leave a mark. In essence this is what the season of Pentecost is all about: Go, then, to all peoples everywhere and make them my disciples: baptize them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and teach them to obey everything I have commanded you. And I will be with you always, to the end of the age. (Matt.28:19-20)

In this season of Pentecost, remember the story of Spiros and the pencil. Remember that you are an instrument in the hand of God. Be extraordinary!

Last week I heard one of the archived broadcasts by Norman Corwin, a radio dramatist and professor of  Journalism at the University of Southern California. He recorded this essay eight years ago at the age of ninety-five. As we live into the Easter Season and journey toward Pentecost, I thought his message was a message for the whole church – certainly a message and challenge for MessiahChurch.

Years ago, while watching a baseball game on television, I saw Orel Hershiser, pitching for the Dodgers, throw a fastball that hit a batter. The camera was on a close-up of Hershiser, and I could read his lips as he mouthed, “I’m sorry.” The batter, taking first base, nodded to the pitcher in a friendly way and the game went on. Just two words, and I felt good about Hershiser and the batter and the game all at once. It was only a common courtesy but it made an impression striking enough for me to remember after many summers.

The blood relatives of common courtesy are kindness, sympathy and consideration. And the reward for exercising them is to feel good about having done so. When a motorist at an intersection signals to another who’s waiting to join the flow of traffic, “Go ahead, it’s OK, move in,” and the recipient of the favor smiles and makes a gesture of appreciation, the giver enjoys a glow of pleasure. It’s a very little thing, but it represents something quite big. Ultimately it’s related to compassion, a quality in very short supply lately, and getting scarcer.

But look, let’s not kid ourselves. It would be foolish to hope that kindness, consideration and compassion will right wrongs, and heal wounds, and keep the peace and set the new century on a course to recover from inherited ills. That would be asking a lot from even a heaven-sent methodology, and heaven is not in that business.

It comes down to the value of examples, which can be either positive or negative, and it works like this: Because of the principle that a calm sea and prosperous voyage do not make news but a shipwreck does, most circulated news is bad news. The badness of it is publicized, and the negative publicity attracts more of the same through repetition and imitation.

But good can be as communicable as evil, and that is where kindness and compassion come into play. So long as conscionable and caring people are around, so long as they are not muted or exiled, so long as they remain alert in thought and action, there is a chance for contagions of the right stuff, whereby democracy becomes no longer a choice of lesser evils, whereby the right to vote is not betrayed by staying away from the polls, whereby the freedoms of speech, assembly, religion, and dissent are never forsaken.

But why linger? Why wait to begin planting seeds, however long they take to germinate? It took us 200-plus years to get into the straits we now occupy, and it may take us as long again to get out, but there must be a beginning.

Pentecost is that moment when the disciples began to plant the seeds of a new world and that continues to be the meaning of Pentecost for us today. Feel the Spirit of God within you. Plant the seeds of the Kingdom wherever you are. Be a message of hope and reconciliation however you can. Spread the Good News! There must be a beginning.

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jewish authorities, Jesus came and stood among them and said ‘Peace be with you!’ After he said this

A little boy, growing up in a community where his father served as a Methodist minister was outside playing. He was doing all of the things that a little boy does. He was climbing trees. He was swinging on the swing set and jumping out. He was rolling and playing with his dog. His mother called him for dinner and all of the family gathered at the table. His mother looked at him and said, Young man, let me see your hands. There was some rubbing of his hands on his blue jeans before he held his hands up. His mother looked at them and asked: How many times do I have to tell you that you must wash your hands before you eat? When your hands are dirty, they have germs all over them and you could get sick! After we say the blessing, I want you to march back to the bathroom and wash your hands.

Everyone at the table bowed their heads and the father said the blessing. Then, the little boy got up and headed out of the kitchen. He stopped, then turned and looked at his mother and said, Jesus and germs! Jesus and germs! That’s all I ever hear around here and I haven’t seen a one of them.

That is a cute little story and one that my three children can certainly appreciate! After all, if Melissa isn’t constantly harping about germs, I’m preparing yet another sermon to talk about Jesus. I’m sure it all gets a bit old for them. Still, the story does point out the difficulty of belief and perhaps even more important the blessings of our hands. Do you know that according to the Federal Bureau of Investigations every one of us has a different set of fingerprints? We are all different, yet we can be identified by our hands. And the same was true for Jesus.

On that first Easter morning, Peter and John gathered with the other disciples in that upper room and most likely spoke of the empty tomb and the possibility of the resurrection. As they were talking, Jesus came and stood among them. They were frightened, but Jesus reassured them by showing them his hands. How often had the disciples seen those hands of Jesus touch blind eyes so they could see? How often had they seen his hands bless little children? How often had they seen him reach out hands and lift up the lame and the weak, the leper and the sinner and say, Walk? They saw the hands of Jesus and they knew that he was alive.

Yet like that little boy in the story sometimes all we hear is Jesus and germs, Jesus and germs and we haven’t seen a one of them! Or have we? Perhaps Jesus can still be identified by his hands. I watched news footage of the prayer vigils outside of Sandy Hook Elementary and the hundreds and hundreds of grieving people in Newtown holding hands as they cried and prayed – and I’m pretty sure I saw the hands of Jesus. I’ve seen so many people from our congregation shop for food, and prepare the food, and serve the food at the homeless shelter downtown – and I’m fairly sure those were the hands of Jesus. I’ve watched so many parents bring their children here for baptisms and trace the cross on the foreheads of their children, and hold them as I pour the water – and I believe these children were held with the hands of Jesus.

The truth is we still identify Jesus by his hands. And I suppose that’s the real meaning of the resurrection narrative from John’s gospel, that Jesus will be recognized in the hands that are marked by service, and sacrifice. And what a powerful challenge this is to the church! People will see Jesus; they will come to know the Lord only after they have seen our hands of service. The resurrection is not a moment to sit back and bask in the life that is assured to each of us – NO – it is a call to serve! We are to be the hands of Jesus to a world that longs to see him. I have seen the hands of Jesus. I know you have seen them too. Easter calls us now to go out and be those hands for others. Let the world see the hands of Jesus. Let them touch the markings and the scars of service and sacrifice. Let them know that he is alive. Happy Easter my Messiah family!

Oh Lord -

What shall I do this Lent?Shall I forgo dainty foods? Or will it be the television set?

No, says the Lord, Neither of these is enough.

What then shall I do this Lent?Shall I attend church?Or maybe a bible study class?

No, says the Lord,These too are not enough.

What shall I do this Lent? Shall I endeavor to pray more?Or visit the sick or poor?

No, says the Lord,These are still not enough.

Lord, I  surrender!

Ah, that is the wordI have been waiting to hear,Longing to hear!

Surrender…

Surrender your will.Immerse

 yourself in My love.Learn of that love.

That complete love.

That embraced all humanity. That love that gives life.

Then go and keep your Lent. And good company you will have.

Whatever you do this season,

Will be done in love for Me.

That is indeed enough.

How are Christmas and Lent alike? The great stories of these seasons are stories of surrender. In the Christmas story Mary gives birth to her first born son in an animal’s stall – an undignified birth. Joseph and Mary have nothing to rely on but the love God, and they surrender to that great love. In the Lenten story Mary stands at the foot of the cross watching the death of her son – an undignified death on a cross. Again she has nothing to rely on but God, and she surrenders to that great love. Christmas and Lent are not about doing – these seasons are about surrendering to the love that is within us and around us.

I find comfort in the stable of Bethlehem. I also find great comfort in the ashes of Lent. Every Ash Wednesday, as ashes are placed upon my head, I am reminded before all else that God loves me as I am; that I am a child of God; that I come from God and go to God and I am held by God. As much as this Lenten devotion is a call to change my heart and my ways; as much as it is a call to turn back to God – first the ashes are a call to remember that I am loved by God! This is the call to surrender! Only after I have surrendered to the love of God can I go out and keep Lent. Only after I am affirmed that I am a child of God can I go out to the world and be the presence of God for others. Only after I am reminded that I am dust can I ever stand up and proclaim to the world that the Divine has created every speck of dust, and every hair on my head is numbered by God (Lk.12:7), and not a sparrow falls to the ground without God’s knowing (Matt 10:29). I am redeemed dust!

The Seasons of Christmas and Lent are moments to remember that we are creatures before the Creator and we are loved. When you come up for ashes this year, before you pledge to change; before you fast, or give alms, or pray; before you do anything – be aware of the love that God has for you. Be surrounded by the presence of the Divine. Surrender to that love. Then go and keep Lent. That will be enough.