a lesson learned

I've been thinking lately of two lessons I learned from one of my most significant professors in grad school.  Fred Norris passed away in 2016.  I hadn't seen Fred for nearly two decades.  But I still remember these vinettes because, in them, there was a shared lesson:  Pastors must love people.  Once, he told a class of "a wonderful spiritual woman" in a congregation he served in Oklahoma.  She never once took communion, and he thinks that she probably went to her grave not having taken it.  Why?  Because she didn't feel worthy -- in part, because she had been left by her husband.  Fred grieved over how difficult it was for this woman in his church to know and experience grace.

In a more serious moment, Fred said it this way:  "Don't let yourself get to a place in ministry where grace and mercy sit as an apostrophe somewhere".

Perhaps all that I learned from Dr Norris can be summarized by a story he told when I first had him as a professor.  In class -- one that no doubt focused on some important point about the doctrine of the Holy Spirit (since that was the class) -- I remember how he talked about some guys coming over to his house to work on his truck.  They got talking (and laughing, no doubt), and learned that Fred was a minister/teacher.  They asked:  What kind of church do you go to?  As in:  You're not like any ministers we've ever known.  We want to see what kind of church someone like you must be in.

But as Dr Norris told the story, he ached.  And his jovial demeanor quickly turned sad, even tearful, as he reflected:  "They wouldn't feel at home in my church".  Fred’s congregation was a good, faithful church, but consisted of mostly educated folk.  And these guys were decidedly blue collar.  And so, Fred grieved at the distance between the beauty and power of what we believe, and the common man on the street who needs to experience it.  And how hard it is to bring those two together. 

That's perhaps the lesson I learned from Fred.  The Gospel is for everyone.

I've had conversations with friends lately that revolve around the difficulty that some Christians construct to keep others (of whatever different brand they might be) out of the church.  Each time, my heart grieves.

Then today ...

In college, I had one bumper sticker, "God is right. Rush is just fat".

 

I got the bumper sticker because of Rush Limbaugh.  I watched his tv show early on.  I considered myself a conservative -- though now I don't know why.  When Kurt Cobain killed himself, Rush gleefully played a clip of Nirvana and told teenagers they didn't need to listen to them anymore or be depressed and be grunge.  They only needed to be Republican.  I never listened to Rush again.  And I put the bumper sticker on my car.

Over the years I repented of my bumper sticker.  Not because I like Rush Limbaugh.  He wasn't a good man.  No, I repented of my Rush Limbaugh bumper sticker because, well, I'm no better than Rush.  God is patiently gracious. God loves me and Rush Limbaugh equally. 

 

So I won't gloat over a man's death.  I won't celebrate.  Because I pray for the man to find the patient grace he never knew or extended to others who were different -- all those Feminazis and folks of color he demeaned over the years.

 

I want to close with a story I heard in preaching class at some point.

 

The widow sat in the front row, crying, surrounded by wailing friends and family.  At the point of the sermon in the liturgy, the priest comes down to stand at the coffin.

 

She laid her hand on the dead man, and said, "Some people, they say, 'What a good man!'"  The widow responded, "Yes!"

 

She paused and then:  "They make everyone happy".  Then she looked at the coffin, and patted it.  "This was not one of those people".

 

Everyone looked up and said, "Yes!  You're so right".

 

The priest continued, listing all the mean things the man ever did.

 

At the end of the sermon, the priest looked down at the coffin and said:  "But God loved him, even him.  God loved even him.  And if God loved even him, God loves us all".

 

For all those in the church with ears to hear, listen to the lesson the Spirit is teaching the church today.