Busy: The four-letter word for the church of the 21st century

Scripture: Philippians 1:1-18

            It was only a little over a week ago that we were finishing up our week-long Hunger Ride bicycle pilgrimage across northwestern Minnesota, but in that short time since I have had a good deal of time to reflect. Actually, the great thing about riding a bike for a good chunk of the day is that there is a lot of time to reflect even in the middle of it, and, time and again, the thing I took away from this ride was how much I needed to open my eyes to the world around me—to look beyond the surface of my narrow life and see the people who I mostly try to avoid. Open your eyes, I thought again and again.

            The same principle of opening our eyes applies to many different facets of life—how we read the Bible, for one. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with Philippians 1 today, because, you know, it’s Paul rambling on in introductory fashion and I didn’t expect to find anything earth-shattering in the introduction to a book. This scripture didn’t jive with what I felt called to talk about, and, honestly, my eyes glazed over every time I read it. I was failing at keeping my eyes open even as that was the message I wanted to share with you.

            Finally, as the week wore on I turned to a commentary on this Phillipians passage and I realized how naïve I was being. Paul was in prison when he wrote Philippians—it’s right there in verses 12-14, let me read it again because I missed it at first: “I want you to know, beloved, that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ; and most of the brothers and sisters, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear.” In the back of my mind I knew that Paul wrote some of his letters from prison cells all over Asia Minor, but again this was just background noise; it didn’t hit home until I read a bit about what those prisons looked like. Ancient prisons were essentially holes in the ground meant for short-term stays, which meant the guards did not bring food or water, and so, the prisoners were completely at the mercy of the local people to bring them something to eat and drink to keep them alive. Suddenly, my mind jumped to Jesus in Matthew 25, saying, “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me” (Mt 25:35-36). 
            And then I realized that I was set to preach on this passage from Philippians less than a week after an eye-opening experience about the pervasiveness of hunger and even still I did not see that this was written by a man thankful for meager rations in a time of need; a man completely dependent on the charity of neighbors, who were, by the way, helping out an unapologetic criminal. This goes beyond hunger; it condemns all of us who live in bubbles, unaware of the world around us. It condemned me when I self-righteously assumed I understood what Paul was saying without imagining where he sat writing these words.

The Hunger Ride; a recap in words, photo, and video

Have you ever had one of those experiences that, no matter how effectively you share it with others, they will never really get it? Yeah, me too. And, if you've had such an experience, you probably also know the futility of bringing people into the stories of what you experienced. No matter how hard you try you can never quite share what it was like, and the more desperate you are to bring people in the less they are able to follow. So, I'm not going to do that. Instead, I'm going to talk only a little about what we did and much more about what it all means.

 

It started on a Thursday in Turtle River. The five of us who would be riding for a week got together (some for the first time) and talked a little about what it was that we were getting ourselves into. 7 days of riding. 241 miles. Evening stops in Bemidji, Walker, Park Rapids, Wadena, Perham, Detroit Lakes, and Hawley. We didn't know it yet but there would also be rain and cold and head winds and even sleet. We had signed up for something that none of us were completely ready for, but the funny thing was that was OK.

The muskie in Nevis

The idea that framed our week was pilgrimage. This was not tourism. We weren't just riding into communities to take a look at the sights, and we weren't riding these roads only because they were particularly pretty. Instead, we were intentionally focusing on the journey itself, going at a slower rate than any car would dare, and taking in the benefits of noticing what surrounds us.

 

Have you been saved? On conversion experiences and the long road of faith

Scripture: Acts 9:1-19

            I was walking with a group of kids on our way back to the St. Louis Park Rec Center after playing some soccer on a hot July day a few summers back. Kids from the chess camp where I worked got the occasional opportunity to play games outside (even if chess kids playing sports doesn’t evoke images of high athletic skill). It was on that short walk back toward air conditioning when a man walking his dog said a loud “Hello!” and beckoned me over to talk with him. Sure, whatever, I thought, as long as the kids don’t run out into traffic in the next seven seconds.

            The man was wearing a biker jacket on an 80-something degree day while out walking his golden retriever. When I came over he very simply said, “Hey! Have you been saved?”

            Now, I don’t think this happens in this part of the world very much, but it’s happened a few times to me in the Cities—beyond the obligatory Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door. And you would think that being a Lutheran pastor would be a good comeback to this kind of question, but, actually, I've discovered that's just about the worst thing I can say, because suddenly I’m not just a lost soul in need of saving, I’m a lost soul in need of saving who is leading other lost souls away.

            On this occasion with my biker-jacket-golden retriever-walking friend, I came back with a well-practiced seminary-approved retort. Have I been saved? “Yep. Two thousand years ago,” I said (we seminary folks are so clever). But I had a feeling where he was going with this, and I wanted to head him off at the pass.

            “No, that’s not enough,” he said, “You need to ask Jesus into your heart . You need to be able to share the moment in your life when you accepted Jesus.”

            I just wanted to get back to the air conditioning.