Several years ago, my family traveled to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania for a family wedding. Being so close to a fantastic array of historical destinations, we decided to add a couple of days on to our trip and sight-see our way around the Washington, D.C. area. That was all planned before the government shutdown. Never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined that the key sites and acres around our nation’s capital and Gettysburg would be barricaded. The battlefields in and around Gettysburg, The National Zoo, all of the Smithsonian complexes, monument after monument, and even the public restrooms were all off limits to citizens and world tourists. How do you begin to answer children’s questions such as, “Why can’t we go to the Lincoln Memorial?” and  “What does the Capitol look like on the inside?” I struggled to find words.

One afternoon, as we drove into Washington, there was a little scuffle in the back seat of our rental car. One kid wasn’t getting their way. A book or backpack had crossed the dividing line and quickly became a point of contention. None of the parties involved could agree on who was at fault or what could be done to resolve the issue. With no talk of reconciliation or compromise, irritation quickly turned into frustration and then into anger. Cruising east on the unusually desolate Constitution Avenue, the selfish stalemate of government was on full display among my own flesh and blood.

You may remember such a family fuss in your own vehicle or life. You may also recognize in this account a mirror image of our ongoing skirmish that is at the heart of our struggle against sin and the devil. We want things our way and we don’t want others to mess with “our” stuff.

One of the Bible readings at the Gettysburg wedding came from the popular words about love from First Corinthians – “Love is patient; love is kind…” The list goes on and on talking about selfless love, a love that is lived for others, an enduring love that is fueled by hope and patience. This love from God isn’t withdrawn and fortified apart from one another, but is a love that extends compassion and generosity to others. God’s love is a love that walks around barricades and dismantles walls for the purpose of love.

We see this love in action in the Holy Week stories of Jesus washing feet, sharing meals, and carrying the cross to the hillside where he will suffer and die. We also see this limitless love in motion with the bursting Easter tomb and Jesus’ visits to the disciples behind locked doors.

As children of God, we should always be wondering, “Where is God asking us to go? Are there places that we’ve closed God off or don’t expect God to show up? How is God seeking us?” Where is God knocking, trying to get in, but we continue to place hurdles and obstructions in an effort to avoid or elude interaction with the Divine?

Our last day in D.C., we had to make a parental choice. Do we obey the paper signs on the barricades and stand at the perimeter of the National Mall for a strained view the Vietnam and Lincoln Memorials or do we, like so many others in an act of civil disobedience, make a way forward? With words of assurance that we wouldn’t spend a lifetime in jail, we grabbed the hands of our children and walked boldly around the barriers that were intended to keep us out.

Hey, Lord of Life, let’s walk, sing, and pray together as we boldly step into our future, ready to share the light and love of our God who is alive and loose in the world!

With hope.

Pastor Lowell

I will never understand picky eaters! Growing up in my family, the rule was “no dessert until you finish your plate.” I remember the hours my sister spent playing with her food while eyeing the cheesecake on the kitchen counter. She was never allowed to enjoy it until her meal was completely gobbled up. Just to torment her, I always made sure to eat my piece of cake in the chair directly across the table and I would take my sweet time enjoying the strawberry drizzled goodness.

I have always been a good eater. In fact, so good, that over time the cheesecake began to feel less and less like a reward. The certainty of dessert was too expected to be special. Meanwhile, my sister longed for that cake. Although I never understood why it was difficult for her to eat the meal that our parents prepared, her struggle was no joke. It took her hours to eat dinner, taking another bite every five minutes. Eventually, she powered through the meal and was finally able to enjoy the dessert that she so desperately wanted. 

In a nutshell, this is the story of Holy Week. Some Christians want to skip the torment and discomfort of the Cross and go directly into Easter. Like me, they want to get through the main course as quickly as they can and get to the good stuff, the dessert. The messiness of the Cross and the reality of death are not things we want to dwell on, but they are central components of our faith. Maybe my sister was on to something? It may have taken her forever to eat her dinner, but the prize idea of dessert never grew numb. The longer we stay fixed on the Cross, the more satisfying Easter morning is. We need to hear the story of Jesus’ death before we can celebrate the resurrection.  

Beginning with Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem, this Sunday we start our journey of following Jesus to the Cross. On Thursday, we will feel Jesus washing the disciple’s feet, hear Jesus’ new commandment to love, and taste the first Lord’s Supper. This will lead us to Friday, where Jesus is placed on the Cross for all to see. Hope sustains us, propels us forward through Maundy Thursday into Good Friday. Hope is what carries us through until we finally get our delicious treat of sugary splendidness. Hope is the defining characteristic that makes us followers of Christ. As people of hope, we remain confident in the arrival of Easter. No matter how long Holy Week seems to last, dessert is on its way. Soon, we will be feasting on the Good News of the empty tomb!

Come, savor the meal!

Lucas McSurley 

Hand-me-downs are some of my favorite items. I have jazz records from my mom’s college years, theology books with my dad’s notes in the margins from his time in seminary, and drafting tools from my grandfather’s thirty-five plus years drawing and designing for Goodyear.

I have a set of six bass steel drums that were gifted to me after a late-night jam session in the basement of the college music building. I wear hats and T-shirts that were gifts from good friends to mark key moments in our lives. I currently drive a car that was a hand-me-down from my in-laws following the demise of my Corolla.

Our Yakima bike rack, scuffed and scratched from years of use by someone else, was spotted in the back corner of a D.A.V. Thrift Shop in Wichita for a mere $25! A drummer friend of mine left me a giant Paiste ride cymbal in her will. I have a stunning black and white picture of the Oregon coast that was a farewell gift at the end of my pastoral internship. That’s right, it came right off the wall of someone’s home and into ours.

One of my favorite stoles, the colorful fabric that drapes over my shoulders for traditional worship, was a gift from Shirley Wuchter on my ordination day. Her husband, Rev. Michael Wuchter, was one of my campus pastors at Wittenberg University and died suddenly while on a goodwill mission trip in Namibia. I remember seeing Michael wear the Guatemalan created garment on Easter each year. His sweat still stains the part that brushes against my neck when I wear it.

But I’m not only on the receiving end. Some of my childhood books and toys have made their way onto the shelves of my own children. Holiday recipes and traditions have been handed down from our generation to the next. Every time we gather with extended family in Northeast Ohio, we pass down clothes and other kid stuff to my nieces, whose children are a few years behind our own. It is like Christmas as they open the bags full of dresses, hoodies, pants, and shoes, alongside bins of stuffed critters, books, and toys. It is so fun to give those things away.

The contagious joy of hand-me-downs revolves around sharing. People share with you and you share with others. This ebb and flow isn’t driven by keeping score, but is activated by generosity.

Faith is a hand-me-down, too. Our hearts and minds have been shaped by traditions, words, music, and ritual that come to us as a gift from others. The gospel of Luke begins saying that the author is writing to pass along the stories of Jesus, “just as they were handed down to us by those who from the first were eyewitnesses and servants of the word” (Luke 1:2 NIV). How we think about God, care for creation, wrestle with issues of faith, and seek to serve one another are all legacy gifts, which have been shared with us by countless faithful followers from the past, as well as those who surround and encourage us now.

In a few weeks, we’ll be launching the Share the Light capital campaign. Share the Light is about handing down and passing along the hope that comes through Jesus. This invitation to share asks us to recognize and respond to all that God gives to us and the ways that make our lives better. It doesn’t come from compulsion, but grows out of faith, hope, and love.

Share the Light!

Pastor Lowell

Mouthwatering baby back rips, oozing deep-dish pizza, and screaming hot homemade chili. My dad is a wizard in the kitchen. Professionally, and somewhat ironically, my dad is a High School health teacher, but every day when that last bell rings he begins his true craft. After school, he makes his daily run to Kroger, collecting all the ingredients for the masterpiece to be created that evening.

Growing up with a parent that loves to cook was a pretty sweet setup. Every evening, just a few minutes before dinner was actually done, he would shout to the top of his lungs, “Dinnnnner!” My mom was typically running my siblings around to either practice or a friend’s house. But still, even if my dad knew I was the only other person home, he would still shout with all he had, “Dinnnnner!” It was so loud that it would have been no surprise to see the neighbors come over for some tasty grub. However, as a bratty teen, I found this shouting to be so annoying. I would mutter under my breath every time, “Dad, I am right here!” It’s only until now that I realize the beauty behind calling people in for a meal.

As the church, of course it’s important to feed those inside its walls, both physically and spiritually, but our mission to love and serve others extends beyond the church. Our mission reaches out in to our community and to the world. I hope you have heard about the upcoming capital campaign “Share the Light.” For me, this begs the question, “who are we sharing the light with?” The answer: everyone! We are sharing the light with those in the church, those in our local community, and even the world. I love that our multi-purpose expansion space will be placed right out front on Tylersville Road. It is as though we are shouting to the community “Dinnnner!” This is a place where people come to be feed.   

Even though my dad knew I was the only one home, even though he knew I was standing right beside him, still he shouted “Dinnnnner!” Back then, I didn’t understand that my dad wasn’t shouting for me. Instead, he was shouting to anyone who might be in ear shot. You simply never know who might hear you. Who actually makes it to dinner isn’t always the most important part about ministry. Its more about all people knowing that they are welcome. Living, sharing, and celebrating with all people is not negotiable or debatable. Rather, it defines us as followers of Christ.

Here at Lord at Life, people come to be fed and to be nourished, so that God can send us out to be agents of peace, hope, and love. As good as my dad’s cooking is, nothing compares to how we are fed through Christ. God calls us, God speaks to us, God feeds us, and God sends us out into the world. 

Join me in the shout!

Lucas McSurley

Several days each week, I wake early to drive a carpool of boys to the Freshman school. We leave with plenty of time to zip around, load up the car, and still arrive at the school by 6:45 am. For months, it has been so dark - pitch black. Even when I arrive back home and try to snuggle in for a few more winks, the sky still looks like it could be the middle of the night.

As I shuttle the boys around, various lights guide my way. Headlights on the car help me maneuver through the parked cars and twisty turns of the neighborhood. Streetlights and reflective signs lay out the path before me, as I jump onto some of the main area roads already bustling with morning traffic. Closer to the school, brightly painted road stripes and massive overhead lighting, as well as traffic signals, illuminate intersections and help create traffic patterns. I’m glad that everything is so well lit.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I like the nighttime. I enjoy darkness. An evening walk sometimes brings peace and clarity to my weary spirit. A darkened theater is better for viewing a concert or film. Sometimes, I even travel beyond the city lights in search for darkness for a better view of the stars. But the darkness in our lives, both literal and perceived, has the power to paralyze us with fear and anxiety about the unknown.

We have been spending time in the Gospel of John this Lenten season. One of the features of this gospel account is the presence of light imagery. Over and over, Jesus refers to himself as light and speaks to the realities that come with that brightness. He tells us that we won’t stumble, our vision will be transformed, and mobility will look different with the dominating light. Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life,” (John 8). The Lord of Light doesn’t say that the darkness is gone, but promises that darkness will not dominate the landscape of our lives. The Light of Christ shines into every shadowed corner and cranny.

Daniel Erlander describes it this way: “We do not find God. God finds us – in our darkness, our pain, our emptiness, our loneliness, our weakness... [For us, this] is a new way of seeing... It is here, on the cross, that God meets us. Here God makes Godself present: hidden in weakness, vulnerable, suffering, forsaken, dying... As God meets us where we are, the Holy Spirit opens our eyes to see the Cross is God’s embrace – the Cross is God’s victory!”

This line of thinking is called Theology of the Cross. In the cross of Jesus, we see forgiveness, reconciliation, power, hope, life, unconditional love, and triumph. In the cross of Jesus, we are reminded that the goodness of God is stronger than any evil. In the cross of Jesus, God declares that death does not have the final word.

In recent days, when dropping off my carload of boys at the school in the early hours, I have noticed a slight glow on the horizon. I still haven’t seen the sun, but the promise of dawn is on the horizon.

Looking to the light!

Pastor Lowell

I grew up in the Roman Catholic church and every year during the season of Lent, conversation would swirl about what we were giving up. A lot of people gave up food items – chocolate, meat, soda. Adults might have given up things like alcohol or swearing.

As I grew in my faith education, I learned about giving up things that would help me make roomfor Christ in my life. I could give up an hour of television to study scripture or a book on a Christian topic. I could give up complaining and be a more positive person to be a better example of Christian love. These are still great ideas!

Now that I’ve been a church “professional” for several years, I’ve learned some history about our calendar and how the traditions of seasons like Lent and Advent came to be. Both Lent and Advent were seasons of fastingbefore major holidays. Lent is the 40 days (not counting Sundays) before Easter, and Advent is the 40 days before - you guessed it - Epiphany. If someone reminds me in December, I’ll write another whole post about why it isn’t Christmas. Historically speaking, these 40 day fasts were meant to temper our “worldly desires.”

But we treat the seasons of Advent and Lent very differently. During Advent, we mark off our calendars; in some traditions we go as far as opening little doors to reveal daily treats. What a contrast to the idea of fasting we think of for Lent. We spend the season of Advent anticipating the joy of Christmas. The tradition of fasting, while it gives us opportunities to open ourselves to Christ, can sometimes have the unintended consequence of drawing our focus to our own suffering.

So what if we thought of Lent more like Advent? The eager anticipation. The joy of preparing ourselves, not for new birth, but new life in the resurrection. As we watch the flowers coming back to life, we can be grateful that Christ’s resurrection means we can stand before God, free of our sin. Yes, we can still make room for God in our lives, and we can do it out of the joy gratitude that we have already been saved through Grace, not by our own deeds and suffering.