Category: Blog

Now there was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. This man came to Jesus by night and said to him, ‘Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with him.’ Jesus answered him, ‘Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.’” – John 3:1-3

 

A SECRET VISIT

No one could find out, he thought as he slunk through the deserted streets of Jerusalem. As a member of the Sanhedrin, he knew his fellow Pharisees would ridicule him for thinking to associate with the lowly fishermen and the leader they followed.

But Nicodemus longed for the truth, a thirst for it deeper than any he had ever known. His sleep had been disturbed for too long by questions to which he had no answers. Was the Galilean really able to work miracles?  Or were they just tricks to trap the simple peasants who trod after him?

He could not risk being seen. His reputation was at stake. Knowing he could be exposed as a fool at any moment, he still could not resist the lure to learn the truth:

Was Jesus, the carpenter, really the Son of God?

A RAINY EVENING

I was fourteen that July, working my first real job at a Five and Ten store in a seaside town, spending my days off sunning on the beach. But there was a restlessness about me. Even the books that provided most of my summer entertainment gave me no answers to the questions that roiled in my mind.

I lay on my cot in the upstairs loft of our summer cottage, listening to the rain beat a tattoo on the roof. Stealthily so I did not awaken my brother on the other side of the loft, I clicked on my bedside lamp and reached into the pocket of the shorts I’d flung onto the floor. My fingers felt the folded envelope my grandmother had brought in from the mailbox this afternoon. I’d read the note from Pam already, but I pulled it out again.

“God has no grandchildren,” she had written in her beautiful and flowing cursive. “I know your church and your religion are important to you, Linda. But only Jesus, not rules, will give you eternal life.”

I considered her words again. For four years, Pam had been my middle school music teacher, but once I graduated middle school, she told me to call her by her first name and invited me to an after-school Bible study. She showed me John 3:16 and invited me on more than one occasion to give my life to Jesus. 

My heart longed to, but the rules of my mother’s religion were ingrained in me. How was it possible that such a gift–eternal life in Heaven–came with no need for penance or dogma?

A HOPEFUL PRAYER

The only prayers I knew were the ones in the missile my mother had given me on my First Communion. But Pam had  told me that I did not need scripted prayers; I could just talk to God. So I did, slipping out of bed and kneeling onto the bare wooden floor. I clutched Pam’s letter in my hand.

I didn’t want to be God’s grandchild. My own grandparents were wonderful and special to me, but I only saw them in the summer months and odd weekends.

 I didn’t want my relationship with God to be part-time. 

I didn’t know what the sinner’s prayer was. I didn’t have any experience at all with Roman’s Road. I barely knew John 3:16.

But as I knelt on that wooden floor in our summer college, listening to the rain beat on the roof, my heart cried out to God.

He heard me. I was born again. 

A CHANGED LIFE

I am certain that Nicodemus faced challenges from his fellow Pharisees after his night with Jesus, yet there was a lasting effect. In John 7:50, he reminded the Sanhedrin that no person should be judged without a trial. His colleagues mocked him, asking if he, too, was from Galilee. After Jesus’ crucifixion, Nicodemus supplied the needed spices for the proper burial of the body and assisted Joseph of Arimathea in transporting Jesus to the tomb (John 19:39-42). 

And me? My mother wasn’t too happy when I declared my intention to leave the church she loved, so I continued to attend with her each Sunday until I left for college. I also know that she realized my faith was solid and strong. During the many years my husband suffered with multiple illnesses, she would often say to me, “Only someone with your faith could see this through.”

It wasn’t me, I’d tell her. It was Jesus. 

The Heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. (Psalm 19:1)

A VAST UNIVERSE

Allen adjusts the lens of his new telescope. “Heaven must be up there somewhere,” he tells me as I lay back on our front lawn and look up at the night sky. “If we can see it, we’ll know where Dad is!” Since his father’s death seven weeks ago, much of my adult autistic son’s energy has been spent in attempting to locate Ron’s whereabouts.

My heart aches for my son, who cannot yet accept the finality of his dad’s passing. Like many on the autism spectrum, the world is a vastly confusing place to Allen, full of noises and sights and things that overload and confuse his neuro-atypical brain. He is most comfortable in a concrete world with things he can control. If he can see it, he reasons,  he can exercise control over it. The vastness of the universe overwhelms him.

THE COMFORT OF STARS

King David, too, found himself overwhelmed by God’s creation. He describes the glory of God displayed in the blue sky of morning and the dark expanse of night, the careful placement of the planets and the stars and the clouds as a declaration of “the Glory of God ” (Psalm 19:1). The creation speaks to our senses; in the Hebrew text, the image is of a gushing spring pouring forth sweet water.

The psalmist poetically describes the heavens as a tabernacle for the sun which God has placed to provide both light and heat for his created beings. The stars, too, provide comfort in the night. Without the stars, David Guznik states in his commentary on Psalm 19, the blackness of the night would close in around us and we would see the blank sky empty, evidence of our aloneness in the great expanse of space.

I recall the words of C.S. Lewis as I survey the bright diamonds God has spread across the velvet night: “The Psalm reflects, more than any other, the beauty and splendor of the Hebrew poetry found in the Psalter.” It is beauty; it is perfection; it is love.

LOOKING FOR DAD

But to my son, still adjusting the lens and repositioning his telescope, it is staggering. In the billions of miles of all creation, where is his father? How can he find him?

“Do you think Heaven is in just one spot?” Allen asks me. “I read somewhere that scientists think there is this great big empty space near the North Star.”

I rise up from the lawn and join him at his telescope, peering into the lens in the direction he’s indicated. “I don’t know,” I tell him. “God has made an infinite universe because He’s an infinite God. But I know God has made a place for Dad.”

Allen’s shoulders slump. I give him a quick hug. “I just wish I could see where Dad is. So I can know for sure that he’s okay. That he’s happy.”

“We can know it,” I tell him. I reach my arms out towards the heavens. “The God who made all of this so carefully and perfectly would also take great care with Dad. As much as we love Dad, God loves him even more.”

“I guess,” Allen says. He continues to scan the skies, looking for concrete evidence of Heaven’s existence and his father’s residency. He sighs. “Well, at least there’s a lot of space if some people in Heaven want to play baseball. I think Dad would like it if he could play baseball again. He missed playing when he got sick.” He grins. “Like that movie he liked, Field Of Dreams.”

“I think he’d like that, too,” I say. “Let’s just stand here for a moment and think about Dad rounding the bases up in Heaven.”

We stand under the night sky, my arm around Allen. My son’s acceptance of his father’s death and his promotion to Heaven grows slowly. But God is not only capable of infinite creation, but of infinite patience.

He’ll wait until Allen is ready.

 

This event was part of the grief process of an autistic adult. To read more about the faith journey Dr. Linda Cobourn took with her son, Allen, after the death of her husband, visit her blog: Quirky: Because we’re all a little different at lindaca1.substack.com.

 

One by one, Jesse’s sons, stood before the prophet
Their father knew a king would soon be found.
Each one passed, except the last,
No one thought to call him,
For surely he would never wear a crown.
(“Shepherd Boy” by Ray Boltz)

 

FEARSOME GOLIATH

The kids in our Wednesday night Bible Club sat on the floor, facing a sheet strung between folding chairs, our make-shift puppet stage. Pam led the children in “Jesus Loves Me,” while Chris signed the words in American Sign Language. Two of my children, Dennis and Bonnie, operated sock puppets, their bodies hidden by the sheet.

In the hallway outside the classroom, I strapped a plastic Roman’s soldier helmet onto my husband’s head and fixed a red cape around his shoulders. “Try and look fierce!” I told him. “Goliath is fearsome!” We both laughed because even at 6 foot 4 inches, Ron was anything but fierce. The kids loved him, calling him the Gentle Giant. 

We were telling the story of David and Goliath but, as usual, we needed to make do with what we had. Our program had no official budget, and we were used to scrounging around to find costumes and props.

We used the ordinary things we had.

On Sunday, Pastor Amy spoke about the “David and Goliath” presentation at Knollwood and the impression it made on the children. It got me thinking about how we, as Christians, can use the very ordinary things in our lives to spread the gospel of Jesus.

ORDINARY THINGS

One by one,
Problems come,
And dreams get shattered.
Sometimes it’s hard to understand.
Cause things like chance and circumstance
They don’t really matter
Our Father has tomorrow in his hands. 

 

David, the shepherd boy who became King, is a prime example of “using the ordinary.” No one expected much of the youngest of Jesse’s sons. Left to care for the sheep while his older and bigger brothers went off to find the Giant Goliath, David used his slingshot to protect the herds, killing lions and bears who attacked. It soon became clear to David, who had merely been bringing lunch to his brothers on the battlefield, that God needed him, an ordinary shepherd boy, to kill the Philistine. Despite the disparaging words of his older brothers (I Samuel 17:28), David remained steadfast.

Here’s where it gets really interesting. King Saul tried to outfit David as a proper soldier, putting a helmet on his head and garbing him in armor (I Samuel 17: 38) But these were not the ordinary things–the sling and the stones–that David was accustomed to. He shrugged off the armature and approached the giant armed with the things he knew about: his slingshot and five little stones. 

USE WHAT YOU HAVE

Well it wasn’t the oldest
And it wasn’t the strongest
Chosen on that day.
Yet the giant fell
And the nations trembled
When they stood in his way.

 

For the Bible lesson long ago, we used what we had: props taken from the Christmas pageant, a sheet from my linen closet, and mateless socks with sewn-on button eyes. Ron roared into the classroom, brandishing his plastic sword, and was soon felled by the puppet David. The kids on the floor laughed and clapped and talked for weeks about the power of God to use ordinary people and ordinary things to conquer giants.

As I sat in church this past Sunday, I wondered at the ordinary things God had given me to use in spreading his word: I wasn’t rich or famous. I wasn’t a king and I didn’t have a million  followers on Instagram. But I had words and stories to share, my own “ordinary things.”

How about you? What are the ordinary things God has given to you that can help you spread His word? Do you have an extra coat to give to someone in need? A frozen lasagne that could feed a hungry family? A pen to write a note of encouragement? A pair of hands to lift in prayer?

Ordinary things. But powerful when used for God. 

When others see a shepherd boy
God may see a king
Even though your life seems filled
With ordinary things.
In just a moment, He can touch you
And everything will change.
Where others see a shepherd boy,
God may see a King!

Let them praise his name with dancing and make music to him with timbrel and harp (Psalm 149:3, NIV)

A Planned Trip

I watched as the Statue of Liberty glided past the window of our state room on the Jewel of the Seas, snapping a couple of photos with my I-phone to send to our kids before we lost internet service. After months of planning and teaching additional classes to pay for the passage, my husband and I were finally taking the cruise to Bermuda we’d hoped to take for our 25th wedding anniversary, a trip that was indefinitely postponed by Ron’s car accident that year. When the packet from Royal Caribbean had arrived the previous  week with our reservations, list of activities, luggage tags, and a colorful map of the island, I was ecstatic, feeling as if I had won Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket!

“What shall we do first?” I asked Ron as I turned away from the window. I pulled the colorful brochure out of my handbag, ready to explore all the luxuries this ship had to offer. But my husband, exhausted from the shuttle trip up from Philadelphia and the long wait to embark, had fallen asleep on the bed. Quietly, I walked across the small room, folded up his walker, and slid it to the side of the bed. We were finally here, on a trip to paradise, but the injuries that continued to plague Ron would certainly limit his activities. It wouldn’t really be paradise for him.

His Paradise would come later.

The Ticket to Ride

This past Sunday, April 24, Cliff Werline spoke of the many reasons we as Christians have to be joyful, not the least of which is the reality of eternal life that awaits us when we exit this mortal world. We should, Cliff advised us, “fix our hearts on eternal life” because we have the ticket to take us there. And that ultimate Paradise offers much more to us than a bounty of pineapples and turquoise waters.

While it’s true we’re not exactly sure what life will be like in Heaven, we do know that “our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ,  who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body”  (Philippians 3:20-21). We’ll never get tired, never get hungry, never be cold. In addition, if our bodies are indeed to be made like the body of Jesus, there might be other things we can look forward to doing in Heaven that we can’t do here.

Flying? Why not? Acts 1: 3-10 describes how Jesus “was taken up before their eyes, and a cloud hid Him from sight”  when He left earth to return to Heaven. Walking through walls? Well, Jesus did when the disciples were in a locked room and “Jesus came and stood among them” (John 20:19). Run fast enough to not sink into the ocean? Both Jesus and Peter did in Matthew 14:22-29. How about teleportation? Acts 8:38-40 tells us that when Philip was ministering to the eunuch,

 “ the Spirit of the Lord suddenly took Philip away”. 

Most importantly, our “dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die” (I Corinthians 15:53). And there would, I have absolutely no doubt, be dancing in our praise to God. 

Ron had always loved to dance.

The True Paradise

Despite Ron’s physical limitations, we enjoyed our one and only cruise. It was a time away from hospitals and doctors, surgeries and medical appointments. Even if I needed to push Ron in a borrowed wheelchair around the paved paths on the white-sanded beaches, we were still able to enjoy gorgeous sunsets and time together in the paradise of Bermuda.

I like to think now of Ron in the true Paradise, his body no longer failing him. The wheelchair and the walker have been left here on earth; he has no need of them in Heaven because, “we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands” (2 Corinthians 5:1). Can he fly? Can he teleport? Maybe.

What I am certain of is this: freed from his illnesses in body and mind, he is undoubtedly dancing.

Dance, then, wherever you may be,

I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,

And I’ll lead you all, wherever you may be,

And I’ll lead you all in the Dance, said he.

And so can you.

“Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him;” (Isaiah 53, vv.4–5)

The black night crushed down on me, a weight greater than any I’d ever borne. My soul felt empty, devoid of all light.

Widow. I was a widow. Just a few hours ago, my beloved husband, Ron, had passed from this life in to the next, leaving a crevice in my heart I feared could never be filled. 

The tears streamed down my face. I reached across the bed for Ron’s pillow, needing the comfort of his scent as I waited for the first pink threads of morning.

“Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto his sorrow.” (Lamentations 1, v.12)

I can imagine the emptiness the disciples of Jesus felt on the Silent Saturday after His crucifixion was akin to mine. The man they had believed in, pinned their hopes on, planned their futures with, had died. Those few who had stayed into the last moments saw his limp and battered body lowered from the cross and laid on the ground.

“It is finished,” He had said. 

Did His followers understand the magnitude of what He uttered? The Greek term “it is finished” is translated as “telelastal,” which means “paid in full.” Jesus had marked the debt of sin paid. As they huddled together, weeping for their loss, some of them feeling the guilt of things not said or done, did they understand the promise of His last words?

“Let us break their bonds asunder, and cast away their yokes from us.” (Psalm 2, v.3)

The sorrow that crushed me that night laid as heavily on the group as the boulder that had been rolled before the tomb. They had believed in Jesus’ earthly existence and kingship. They could not yet understand that Jesus of Nazareth had come not to lift their physical burdens, but the heavier weight on their souls.

I knew that night, as they did not, that while Ron’s earthly life had come to an end, his eternal life had just begun. I felt the loss of my husband deeply; a piece of myself had been severed.  But as I hugged his pillow and waited for daylight and the arrival of our children, I also rejoiced that Ron was no longer in pain; he had been made whole.

I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.” (Job 19, vv.25–26); “For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first fruits of them that sleep.” (I Corinthians 15, v.20)

Thankfully, we know how the story of Jesus ends. On Sunday, our church rang out with hymns of praise and shouts of Hallelujah as we celebrated the miracles. Not just one of His resurrection, but of the redemption given to all of us.

As I stood among other believers, singing the Hallelujah chorus, I knew something the disciples would learn as the three women went to the tomb.

It was empty.

The cost of sin had been paid so that we, my husband included, could be People of the Resurrection.

Our own tombs are also empty.

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by his blood, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing. Blessing, and honor, glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever.” (Revelation 5, vv.12–14) “Amen.”

A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees. The crowds went ahead of Him and those that followed shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven!” Matthew 21:8-9 (NIV)

 

LASTING MEMORIES

We watched from the boardwalk as the orange sun dipped slowly into the Atlantic Ocean, brush strokes of pink and purple spreading across the darkening sky as the golden flecks on the water faded to black. I squeezed my husband’s hand in mine, and laid my head against his arm. I knew that in a few moments, the ocean breeze would chill his depleted body and I’d need to begin the difficult task of manuveuring him and his wheelchair back to our hotel. Our vacation at Bethany Beach was swiftly coming to an end. Ron’s illnesses continued to ravage his body and his mind.

I knew this would be our last vacation.

For just a few more moments, I breathed in the fresh salt air, committing to memory the colors of the sunset, the warmth of Ron’s hand in mine, the gentle sound of lapping waves. The months ahead would be difficult; this moment would be a moveable feast of the senses to travel with me.

A MOVEABLE FEAST

Palm Sunday is, according to the United Methodist Church, a “moveable feast” that–unlike Christmas–occurs on a different date each year, determined by the lunar calendar. While the date may change, traditionally Palm Sunday is a celebration and, perhaps more importantly, a memory to hold when times turn dark. Even as we celebrate the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, we are aware of what will happen: the abandonment on Wednesday, the betrayal on Thursday, the trial and death on Friday. Difficult days to be endured, perhaps eased by a beautiful memory.

“Hosanna!” the crowds shouted. “Save now!” They wanted immediate release from Roman rule, expecting that Jesus would not just overturn the tables of the money-changers in the temple, but the Roman government itself. The clothes and palms spread before Him were a sign of homage to the one they hoped would become the earthly King and free them from their physical bonds.

But Jesus, you might recall, came to Jerusalem not on a horse, a symbol of war, but on a donkey, a sign of peace (Zechariah 9:9). An untried donkey (Luke 19:30). A common work animal. An animal whose sole purpose in life was for this one moment in time when he carried the Savior into the city. A moment that would become, for the faithful followers of Jesus, a time to remember.

A TRAVELER MOVES ON

In his memoir published in 1964, Ernest Hemmingway describes a moveable feast as, “the memory of a splendid place that continues to go with the moving traveler, long after the experience has gone away” (A Moveable Feast). Even knowing that times turn dark do not stop us from our Palm Sunday celebrations.

Realizing that Ron’s earthly walk was coming to an end did not stop me from enjoying that last sunset we shared together on the boardwalk in Bethany Beach. The sun sank that evening, but in the dark days that followed I continued to recall the sound of the lapping ocean waves, the purples and pinks of the sky, the scent of the salted ocean air. The warmth of my husband’s hand in mine.

Moveable feasts might skip around the calendar, arriving on a rainy March or a sunny April. It is not the date itself that matters; it is the splendid memory that moves with us, down whatever road we are led. 

And, I pray, down whatever road you are led.

NOTE: I was away this weekend. This blog was originally written in August, 2017. 

“Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out demons. Freely you have received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8).

ALIENS IN PHILADELPHIA

My husband was barricaded in his hospital room at the University of Pennsylvania, threatening doctors and nurses with his IV pole.

“You’re here!” he shouted when he saw me. “I knew you would come. I told you, Diana.” He turned to the nurse that was behind him, the only medical personnel he allowed into the room. “You won’t let them steal my brain, will you?”

“No,” I said. “No one will steal your brain.”

Diana smiled weakly. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

I shrugged. “Thanks for calling. It’s not every day I have to come save my husband from space aliens who want to do research on his brain.  It’s a new journey.”

In the years since Ron became disabled and I took on the role of the Well Spouse, I had often felt I had not really packed for the journey. The words “ In sickness and in health” don’t prepare you for the possibilities of what CAN happen, such as anesethesia-induced paranoia.

THE GREAT COMMISSION

I often wonder how the Apostles of Jesus felt. The Book of Matthew relates the Great Commission which sent them out into the world. They were told not to burden themselves with luggage: no extra sandals or cloaks, no satchels, no money. They were to depend upon God for their provisions. And they were to freely give to others what had been given to them. They were not trained physicians, but they were to “heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out demons “ (Matthew 10:8). Surely, they must have wondered how they—mere mortal men—would be able to accomplish these things!

It’s a question I asked myself many times in my 19 year journey as the Well Spouse. I felt as unprepared as the Apostles as they set out on their missions, untrained in medicine of the mind and body. There were many times I sat alone in a hospital waiting room, just me and God, waiting to hear if Ron would live or die.

EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEYS

The twelve Jesus sent out into the world on the first mission journeys were ordinary men. Four were fishermen. Yet they spread the Gospel throughout the known world and, even though it was illegal to become a Christian, many accepted Jesus as Savior. While the Apostles may have felt inadequate to the task, God gave them the power and the courage they needed.

The journey of a Well Spouse also takes a lot of courage.

After the effects of the anesthesia from the previous day’s surgery wore off, Ron was peaceful, nodding off to sleep in his hospital bed. No more space aliens threatened his existence. His brain was safe for now. I sat next to his hospital bed, calmly knitting a prayer shawl for a friend when Dr. Inger quietly entered the room and checked Ron’s vitals.

“He’s doing okay,” the doctor said. “How about you?”

I gave a shrug. “Just another day. I’m used to it all.”

He nodded. “You’ve been married, what, 25 years?”

“Thirty.”

“Hmmm.” He took a chair from the corner and straddled it. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

I shook my head. “Go ahead.”

“How do you do it? How do you stay with him? Why don’t you just walk away?”

And so I told the good doctor that my vows had been sacred ones. The road had been long and hard, but that did not mean giving up. Whenever I felt inadequate for the journey, whenever I felt as if I had packed the wrong things and just did not have what it would take to move one step further, God gave me what I needed.

“I think,” said Dr. Inger, “I need to study this some more. You’re a strong woman.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I serve a strong God.”

A NEW JOURNEY

My husband’s journey ended in 2019 when he went Home to be with Jesus. I started on a new journey  as I learned to walk the widow’s path and care for my autistic adult son. 

And like the Apostles, I’ve packed light, counting on God to supply whatever I need. 

Where does your journey take you? To hospitals? To prisons? To stores? To your own neighborhood? 

What do you need to pack?

Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me. Matthew 25: 40 (NIV)

A DARK NIGHT

The darkness of the night seeped through the glass windows of the trauma waiting room, separating us into small pockets of gloom. My mother-in-law and father-in-law slumped in hard plastic chairs while my daughter and I alternated between leaning against the wall and standing by the red phone that connected to the operating room. My brother-in-law paced the carpet.

The events of the last few hours had seemed unimaginable, yet here we were, waiting to see if my husband, the victim of a careless driver, would live.

The darkness threatened to consume us. His recovery from such grievous injuries seemed impossible.

ACTS OF MERCY

But God specializes in impossible situations. Just as the trauma surgeons down the hall from us were trying to piece my husband back together, God has carefully designed us as a community of believers to uplift and support one another. 

The theologian John Wesley taught that the works of mercy are one way in which we can receive God’s grace and become more like the image of Christ. As Pastor Amy told us on Sunday, acts of caring for the sick, visiting those in prison, feeding the hungry, giving generously to the needs of others, and inviting strangers home are all the works of mercy. It was a lesson the disciples of Jesus clearly needed to hear.

The image of Christ as King, seated on the throne of Heaven, was one they longed to see, but they didn’t yet grasp that nights of engulfing darkness often proceeds wondrous light (Matthew 10:16-39). To illustrate the need to be involved in acts of mercy, Jesus likened himself to a shepherd who separated his flock of faithful sheep from the disobedient goats. The sheep are those who have demonstrated faithful care for others and are “blessed by the Father” (Matthew 25:34) while the goats go their own stubborn ways.

THE LEAST OF THESE

Pastor Any gave further explanations of “sheep” and “goats.” The “sheep” nations are those who will befriend the remnant of the Jewish people in the last tribution, a dark time indeed. But those “goat nations” will refuse to help “the least of these.”

At some time in everyone’s life, we are “the least of these”: alone, scared, hungry, broken, depressed. And on that wounding night, my daughter and I were numb in the impossibility of the night.

A LIGHT SHINES

Into that sorrowful darkness, God sent several of his servants to bring us light. My best friend arrived to offer prayers and hugs; two deacons from church came with hot coffee and sandwiches; and our then-pastor, Lou, brought encouragement and words of comfort. 

Slowly,  one beam at a time, light trickled into the void. We prayed; we cried; we sang hymns; we even laughed. Our sick spirits were lifted. In the many weeks and years that followed that impossible night, we continued to be lifted up by a multitude of merciful acts. 

Reaching Claymont and beyond for Christ might seem like another impossible mission, but providing one act of mercy–a meal, a prayer, a visit, a kind word–will make the mission we have been given attainable. 

What ministry is calling you to serve one of “the least of these” ?

What act of mercy can you demonstrate today?

For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function,  so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. Romans 12:4-5 (NIV)

 

A PLACE TO BELONG

My windshield wipers went back and forth, back and forth, clearing the raindrops from my view. The rain outside on this March Sunday matched the sorrow I felt and the tears running down my cheeks. I drove past the church I had attended–with my husband–for most of our married life. But things had changed; I was alone now in my widowhood and as much as I loved the church where we had once walked down the aisle, I no longer felt I fit. 

I needed to find a place where I DID fit, where I was not seen as half of a couple, but as a whole person. And a place where my adult autistic son would not be overwhelmed by the sensory overload of large screens with flashing lights and loud bands.

The need to find a place to belong is a basic human need, first theorized in Maslov in 1943. But it existed long before modern times. A brief glimpse at the Gospels will show us that the need to find a place to fit in, a place to belong, is universal. In Deutoronomy 26-27 we read that the people worshipped together as a community. Holy Days such as Passover were shared with others (Exodus 12:13). But since Ron’s death, I had spent most Sundays sitting alone in the church I had once thought of as home. 

JESUS’ COMPANIONS

I think Jesus Himself knew a thing or two about being on the outside looking in . We need only to look at those He chose as his close companions—several common fishermen, a Zealot, a tax collector, and a thief—to know that Jesus was not hanging out with the Beautiful People. As He left Earth for Heaven, He desired for there to be “unity of the Spirit in the bonds of peace” (Ephesians 4:3).

Operating on nothing more than a casual comment my husband  made whenever we would drive down Philadelphia Pike and pass The Church of the Atonement, I pulled into the parking lot that Sunday morning a year ago. Ron’s words, “That looks like a nice church” echoed in my mind. I parked my car, wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and walked into the warm embrace of the people of Atonement. The stained glass windows were reminiscent of the Methodist Church my brother and I had attended with my grandmother as children.  The peaceful atmosphere of the building allowed me to believe that my son, too, would feel at peace here. In the people I met that day, Pastor Amy among them, I felt the tangible presence of Christ. 

I knew I had found a new home and a new place to serve Jesus.

GET CONNECTED

How about you? Being connected  to the church–which is the people, not the building–is not always easy. The Book of Acts is full of challenges that faced the early church: changes in leadership (Acts 1:19), immorality (Acts 5:1-10), complaints (Act 6:1), false teaching (Acts 15:1), and diversity (I Thessalonians 19:11). 

But it is through the connections with one another that we are better able to serve and “Continue to meet and to encourage” one another (Hebrews 10:25). 

Where can you use your particular gift from God to serve others (I Corinthians 12:12)? I am pretty sure there is a place here for you at the Church of the Atonement! Come find your own place.

Excellent question. There’s enough going on in our lives; who needs one more thing to drop into their inbox and make them feel guilty if they don’t read it? I understand completely. My own inbox is always way too full and often I wonder who these people are that are invading my private space. I promise you, though, that a church blog is as much as part of ministry in the 21st century as singing in the choir, teaching Sunday School, or serving breakfast at Knollwood.

Why? People who might never come in the doorway of the Church of the Atonement MIGHT read the blog, or read a blog you share, or read a blog about a subject they googled. In fact, I want to tell you FIVE important reasons why our church needs a blog, and why I’m thrilled Pastor Amy asked me to direct it.

1. KEEP YOUR MEMBERS INFORMED.
   We’re slowly returning to life after a two-year pandemic that found most of us attending church–and school and work–on our computers. And many of our shut-ins or people who are not local still attend that way. A church blog will keep them informed of important events, remind them mid-week of the sermon, and serve as another connecting point in a world that often lacks personal connections.
2. BUILD RELATIONSHIPS AND COMMUNITY.
   Be honest: how many of us leave church thinking, “What a great message!” then get to the middle of the week and can’t quite remember it. This blog is a place to put what we’re learning into action. Hopefully, you’ll want to make comments and discuss what God is doing in your life.
3. INCREASE TRAFFIC TO THE WEBSITE.
   We’ve got a lovely revamped website now (Thanks, Randy!) and we want to show it off to as many people as possible, not just in Claymont but beyond. Having a blog that deals with different topics increases our search rankings AND the possibility that casual viewers will find us. Search engines help people to make decisions about what movie to see, what restaurant to visit, and where to vacation. Why not where to worship? Relevant blog posts can get linked to other posts. My most shared post, entitled “God is good. All the time.” reached 438 people!
4. RAISE VISIBLITY TO THE COMMUNITY.
   Here at Atonement, we’re all about serving the community where we’ve been planted. A blog that features photos and details about events is a personal voucher for our church. And when someone shares a blog, more people are reached. 
5. CHALLENGE THE CONGREGATION.
   Pastor Amy asked me to direct this blog, but it’s not MY blog; it’s OUR blog. I hope to have other people share their stories of faith and challenges, their God encounters, and how Jesus changed their lives. 

I’m ready to start this new adventure, and I hope you’ll pray for this journey and join me as we live out our faith and WALK WITH JESUS.