Nearly two years ago Melissa and I took our first trip together – without the children! We “farmed out” the kids to each set of grandparents and took off for a mini-vacation to New York City. I hadn’t visited “the Big Apple” since my days in college nearly thirty years ago, while Melissa had never been to New York. We had a spectacular time!

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.

Once upon a time there was an old pencil maker named Spiros. Every day he worked diligently with wood and graphite and rubber to make the most extraordinary pencils. Artists and writers, accountants and children all used his wonderful writing instruments. With his pencils in their hands they could sketch the most magnificent drawings, and create the most beautiful stories. Mathematics came easily for those keeping accounts and children seemed to fly through their studies. The children of the village wanted to know what it was that made Spiros’ pencils so magical.

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!

Spending every Sunday morning preaching what is hopefully Good News, occasionally folks ask me where I find inspiration. Where do I find Good News? My moments of inspiration come through reading, often through film and television, and then there are those moments when it might be a story or song I hear – perhaps something on the radio. Last week I listened to a program entitled: This I Believe. This I Believe is a National Public Radio program that engages people in writing and sharing essays describing the core values that guide their daily lives. Over 100,000 of these essays, written by people from all walks of life, are archived on their website, heard on public radio, chronicled through books, and featured in weekly podcasts. The project is based on the popular 1950s radio series of the same name hosted by Edward R. Murrow.

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.