Old red wooden church of Pyhämaa / Vieja iglesia roja de madera de Pyhämaa / Vieille église rouge en bois de Pyhämaa.

This church, built in 1647-1652 is looking very typical from outside, but from inside it is not. It is completly painted with allegorical drawings. One can easily imagine that if the sermon was too long or boring, then parishioners were inspecting those drawings. Now You have possibility to do the same via my photos.

Esta iglesia, construida en 1647-1652 parece muy típico de afuera, pero de dentro no lo es. Está completamente pintado con dibujos alegóricas. Se puede imaginarse fácilmente en el caso de que el sermón fue demasiado largo o aburrido, entonces parroquianos inspeccionaban esos dibujos. Ahora Usted tiene la mismma posibilidad hacerlo mismo a través de mis fotos.

Cette église, incorporé 1647-1652 parait très typiques de dehors, mais de l’intérieur ce n’est pas le cas. Elle est complété peinte avec les dessins allégoriques. L’un peut facilement s’imaginer que si le sermon était trop long ou ennuyeux, alors les paroissiens inspectaient ces dessins. Maintenant Vous avez la même possibilité le faire Vous-mêmes à travers mes photos.

Wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

Wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

Wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

Wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

wooden church of Pyhämaa / Iglesia de madera de Pyhämaa / Église en bois de Pyhämaa

S 484 – LSOCY 09 – John 18

The Christmas series at Gracepoint Davis Church goes back thousands of years:  Back to the Future!  We’ll be learning various Old Testament connections to Jesus Christ, Who is the reason for the season!  Come join us for this 4-part Sunday series Nov. 26, Dec. 6, 13, 20 at Harper Junior High School (4000 E. Covell Blvd.), 11:30am.

Wyatt A. Brown

We had our Divine Service on Tuesday evening, which we found to work well with everyone’s of the travel plans.

Thanksgiving is all about food. Of course there are other things associated with the holiday. Family and football and naps are important, but Thanksgiving is really about the food. The cable TV can go out and you can still have Thanksgiving. You can be separated from your family and you can still have Thanksgiving. But you cannot skip the feast of turkey, ham, stuffing, cranberries, potatoes, casseroles, and pies and still have Thanksgiving. You could sit at table full of strangers without any football games, but if all the right food was there you would never doubt that you celebrated Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving in America is really all about the food.

Thanksgiving in the Church is also all about the food, albeit a heavenly food. It is the Eucharist, which comes from the Greek for “thanks.” God’s spread, His Eucharistic feast, is a little white wafer and common wine. Can you imagine your shock and disappointment if someone served you a Thanksgiving dinner of only some tasteless discs of bread and a shot of cream sherry? How many of you would stick around for the reception tonight if Lisa served rolls of white wafers and some wine you would never serve at your own table? Yet faith informs us that the finest feast we eat this side of eternity consists of such bread and wine. Of course it is not mere bread and wine, but sanctified by the Word of God it becomes the Holy Body and Holy Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. In the mystery of faith, our Risen Lord’s body, broken on the cross, fills our bellies with His salvation; and our Risen Lord’s blood, poured out on the wooden beams and soil of Calvary, quenches our thirst with His forgiveness. Our Confessions, speaking to this mystery, state, “in the Lord’s Supper the body and blood of Christ are truly and substantially present and are truly offered with those things that are seen, bread and wine. Moreover, we are talking about the presence of the living Christ, for we know that death no longer has dominion over him (Rom. 6:9).” This confession of faith is a scandal to the modern, rational, spiritually blind person. The notion that we kneel at this rail, believing our Redeemer is present for us in bread and wine, effecting forgiveness and salvation for us, is a stumbling block for many, but we must thank God for it.

We must thank God for this gift of the Eucharist because we do not want to be like those nine lepers. Remember, there were ten lepers who had cried out to Jesus, “Lord, have mercy.” And Jesus had mercy. It is what Jesus does for people. He cured them of their leprosy, a miracle equivalent with the resurrection of the dead. Jesus healed their dead, decaying flesh. Jesus gave them a new life. Jesus restored them to their families, friends, and community. But only one of the ten returned to Jesus. Only one fell down on his face before Jesus, the Son of God, and offered thanks for the mercy shown to him. This caused Jesus to ask, “Were not ten cleansed? The other nine… where are they?” Why aren’t they praising God with a loud voice? Why aren’t they falling down on their faces? The answer is obvious. They did not know really know Jesus and the power of His Word, even though they had experienced a great miracle. If they had known, they would have returned in faith to Jesus, and offered thanks. But they were thankless. And to be thankless is to be faithless.

When we gather around our Lord’s Word and the mysteries of faith, then we are giving thanks. We are thanksgiving. This is the right response to Christ’s mercy on us. In Holy Baptism, Jesus has shown us mercy. He washed away our sins and joined us to the power of His death and resurrection. So we return to Him with thanks. We do not want to be thankless. Remember, to be thankless is to be faithless. So we meet Jesus where He has promised to be with us always, in His Holy Word and His Holy Communion. In these gifts, Jesus is present for us. We are thankful for them. We are thankful because He continues to heal our leprosy, the sin and death that infects each of us. While our skin may not be scabbed and flaking off, the symptoms of our leprosy are evident in the many ways we fail to love God and love our neighbor. Faith teaches that Jesus alone can heal our flesh, so we come to Him and shout, “Lord, have mercy on us.” He does. This is what Jesus does for sinners. Jesus has mercy. Jesus even works the merciful miracle of joining His Holy Body to tasteless bread and His Holy Blood to bitter wine. Every Lord’s Supper that we celebrate is a miracle, no less than the miracles that Jesus did during His days on earth. Every Lord’s Supper that we celebrate is a miracle equivalent to healing lepers and resurrecting the dead. In fact, every Lord’s Supper is a miraculous healing of our leprosy and a nourishment of our bodies unto the resurrection. St. Irenaeus wrote, that our bodies, “when they receive the sacrament, are no longer corruptible, because they have the hope of the resurrection.” Our flesh is healed. Our life is restored. So we are here this evening, just like every other time we gather at the Lord’s Table, to give thanks for our Lord’s mercy us, and, as we receive His miraculous gift of mercy in the Eucharist, we leave with our bodies and souls nourished by His holy feast with His words ringing our ears, “Rise and go your way; your faith has made you well.” Happy Thanksgiving. Indeed.

About an hour ago, my wife and I returned from our church’s Thanksgiving service.  It was a wonderful time of corporate worship.  However, what I take away most from this service was Pastor Bixby’s closing remarks.  His message was specifically addressed to those who will be celebrating Thanksgiving with unsaved family members.  I want to share with you just a few of the notes I took down tonight, slightly edited for blog usage.

Text:  Romans 1:16ff

You can expect there to be conflict for the gospel will be present at the table along with those who are under the wrath of God.

You can expect there to be difficulty.  Something is not going to go right.  One of your children may wake up on the wrong side of the bed and display just the wrong kind of behavior you don’t want your unsaved relatives to see.  Your testimony this day might not be the greatest for many reasons.

As we strive to have just the right testimony before our unbelieving loved-ones, we must remember that our righteousness is not in our testimony, but in the gospel itself.  We are not a perfect people.  It should not be our desire to act as if salvation depended upon our own works.   Though we would never say that, perhaps we do want to show that.  A gospel of grace does not require us to always live perfectly before the unsaved.  It is ok to admit we are imperfect sinners.  It is ok even to admit that at times the unsaved act better than we do.  People do not reject God because of your testimony.  According to Scripture, they already have been given enough evidence for God.

Let thankfulness be your testimony.  Relax in front of your relatives.  We don’t need to perform for the unsaved.  Instead we ought to show forth God’s grace through our genuine spirit of thankfulness for all that He has done. 

Wow.  I am amazed that my pastor had the courage to preach this message.  I cannot recall how many sermons I have heard that was the polar opposite of this sermon.  How many stories have I heard about Christians losing their testimony in front of the unsaved, thus giving them ample reason to reject God and His salvation?  I still remember Tom Farrell giving such an illustration about Gandhi. 

Besides, a person’s reputation may not always be an accurate reflection of one’s inward character.  The Pharisees all had wonderful testimonies, but where turning their converts into twice the children of hell they were themselves.  We all know examples of modern-day Pharisees who know the right words to say and put on just the right performance when needed.  Their hypocrisy is not a help to the gospel.

On the other hand, Jesus had the reputation of eating and drinking with lowlifes, but also secured the salvation of who would believe.   Sometimes, a godly person will have an undeserved, misunderstood reputation.  I think all of us who live for the Lord has experienced this at some point to some degree.

People don’t go to hell because they see Christians mess up.  That is not to say that Christians have a license to sin without worry.  But I guess I fear the danger of good Christians forever living with  the guilt of possibly sending people to eternal damnation more than I fear the danger of Christians living without any moral restraint (possibly because I would also doubt that such people would be genuinely regenerated). 

Perhaps what our relatives need to see is that God saves imperfect people.  They need to see that grace is greater than any sin and any sinner.  Grace is what it’s all about.  I can be thankful that God would have mercy on me, a sinner deserving His wrath and condemnation. 

Thank you, Pastor, for reminding me of this in such a powerful way.

Here’s the sermon I preached on Nahum at Christ Church Hawthorn last Sunday. It’s the last in a series we’ve done called ‘Encountering God in the Old Testament’.

The following sermon is based upon Luke 21:25, the opening verse of the Gospel reading according to the pre-Vatican II Missal.  On Saturday I will be posting “Resources For The First Sunday Of Advent”, which will contain resources for both forms of the Rite i.e., pre Vatican II and Vatican II).

We are beginning today, dear brethren, the season of Advent.  That word, you know, means coming; and the time which elapses from the Sunday next to the Feast of St Andrew, to Christmas Day, is called by this name, because the Church has appointed it to be kept with special devotion and observance in honor of the coming of our Lord.  In the Divine Office, and in the Liturgy or the prayers read at Mass during this time, the Church places herself in spirit, in the position of those who lived before the coming of our Lord, and she uses the prayers in which the Patriarchs and Prophets of old, expressed their longing desires that their Savior might come and save the world.  And that time, which preceded the incarnation of our Lord, was, from the fall of our first parents, a time of mourning and of sorrowful desire for hope deferred, the Church makes her ministers wear those dark purple vestments as a sign of mourning, and she commands her children to observe some few days of fasting, that they may enter into a penitential spirit, and then be purified for the celebration of our Lord’s coming.  But, brethren, we know the Savior will not be born again, according to the flesh; the coming, therefore, that we prepare for, is the spiritual birth of Jesus in our hearts, for He is, as it were, born afresh in us, when sin being expelled from our souls, He takes possession of them, and lives anew in them by His sanctifying grace, and by a presence of love.  And this spiritual birth of Jesus in our souls is a preparation for the last coming; when He will come to judge the world.  This is the great Advent for which life is given us to prepare.  For this reason the Church, looking forward to the next and coming Savior, the one that we expect, reads this portion of the Gospel in which our Blessed Lord foretells it, and describes its attendant circumstances.  Our faith tells us, that we shall all be judged immediately after death, that our eternal doom shall be then irrevocably fixed, that the tree will remain on which side it falls.  What need, then, of general judgment?  Brethren,  it is necessary that Providence may be vindicated, that the justice of God may be made manifest to all.  In this life, the good are for the most part in sorrow and in suffering, the wicked doers pass through life in joy, and revel and carry their heads high.  All this must be set right in the world to come, the sufferings of the just must be turned to joy, their lowliness must be turned to glory-the wicked must be humbled for their pride, and punished for their guilty pleasure.  But it is not enough that God shall do justice and judgment.  He wishes to show that He is just, and that His judgments are right, and He wishes to vindicate His ways to man, and hence a day of retribution in the presence of all, which St Paul calls the day of the revelation of the just judgment of God.  This day will also fill the measure of the glory of the Saints, for it will tell once for all to the wicked the wisdom of those ways which were despised as folly, the beauty of that virtue which as enshrined in the hearts of the Saints, the heroism of those sacrifices which the world did not honor.  Our Savior tells us in this Gospel, that judgment will be foretokened by awful signs and portents.  “There shall be signs in the sun and in the moon and in the stars, and upon the earth distress of nations, by reason of the confusion of the roaring of the sea and of the waves.  Men withering away for fear and expectation of what shall come upon the whole earth, for the powers of Heaven shall be moved.”  But these words are obscure, like all prophecies which are not clearly understood until they are fulfilled by the even, and whatever they mean, it would appear that notwithstanding these forewarning tokens, that day will come suddenly and unexpectedly, for “as the flash of lighting cometh out of the east and appeareth even unto the west, so shall also the coming of the Son of Man be.”  But come it will, brethren, that day of wrath, the last of the days of time-the first of eternity.  Then God will send His Angels with a trumpet and a great voice to call the dead from the furthest parts of the heavens, and then as St Paul says, “We shall all rise again, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye-at the last trumpet, the dead shall arise.”

Brethren, what an awful awakening.  The many generations of mankind that have slept for ages, shall lift their heads again; the sea and the dry land shall give up their dead; and as in the vision of Ezekiel, the dry bones shall be covered with flesh, and the spirit shall be breathed into them, for we shall arise in the bodies we have now, and meet each other face to face in the valley of judgment, “and they shall see the Son of Man, coming in a cloud with great power and majesty.”  (Continue reading at first full paragraph: Brethren, what a meeting of the creature and the Creator!)

A Sermon Preached at the University Baptist Church, Columbus, Ohio

22 November 2009

I. Introduction

• I have been reading recently David McCullough’s biography of John Adams, second president of the United States – I have found Adams’s commitment to the revolution and to the founding of the nation impressive – he was a man who gave a great deal of himself and of his material wealth to make the dream of a new republic in the new world a reality – his efforts often cost him much in terms of his popularity among the people of the United States and even among other political leaders of his day – he experience success, yes, and accomplished much, often with very little support or encouragement, but he also experienced betrayal and isolation from many who declared themselves his friends – what kept him going was a vision of a new nation, a way of being a country that the world had never seen in its history – we take his vision for granted today, but it was new and radical in the eighteenth century – John Adams, and others of the founders of the United States, embraced that vision with a passion that made it a reality that has endured, for better and for worse, for more than 230 years
• God has a vision for us as followers of Jesus Messiah – today I would like us to consider that Vision, and to consider our participation in it in new and more intentionals ways

II. Of Kings and Kingdoms

• The language of kingship, sovereignty, and reign gives us a number of problems – in our world, we cannot think of these things without thinking of the examples we see in history and in the present day – in history, even when the rulers have been good, kind, benevolent, they have still been the rulers – the work of the people over which the rulers have ruled has been service to the ruler – they served in the rulers’ households and courts – they have waited on the rulers – they have fought the rulers’ wars – even artisans, people of business and commerce were not entirely free to conduct business or their trade/craft/art as they wanted – in general, individuals rarely have had any significant degree of autonomy – they have lived where the rulers said they should live and done what the rulers have told them to do, even when the rulers actually cared for their subjects
• Too often in human history, the rulers have not been kind or benevolent – too often they have been ruthless, cruel, despotic, tyrannical, heartless – for these types of rulers, not only were their subjects supposed to serve the rulers, but the subjects were property for the rulers to do with as they pleased – our history is replete with this type of ruler
• In the contemporary world, rulers are more often elected or have seized power – there are few out and out, absolute monarchies in the world today – it places that still have titular monarchs, such as the UK, the rulers have a symbolic or ritual function, rather than an actual ruling function – but the rulers still usually have great wealth at the expense of the ones they rule
• So when we come to speak of the reign of the Christ, we have to be careful that we do not confuse Jesus with the exemplars of rulers that we know
• I want to begin with Jesus’ conversation with Pontius Pilate, which we heard earlier [John 18.33-38] – the setting is Pilate’s quarters in Jerusalem during Jesus’ passion – in the Gospel story, the Jewish leaders have brought Jesus to Pilate because they believe Jesus needs to die and, under Roman law, they do not have the authority to enact capital punishment – [N.B.: remember that the Gospel writers always portray the Jewish leaders in the most negative light – I am not saying that the Jewish leaders did not want Jesus out of their way, but they may not have been so blatant as the Gospel writers show them as being] – the Jewish leaders do not give a reason to Pilate for why they want Jesus dead, so Pilate asks Jesus directly if he is the king of the Jews – Jesus’ reply is enigmatic – he says he is a king, but his kingdom is not from this world – that is certainly a sort of kingdom that would make no sense to Pilate – we only know what he means because of when we live, which is after the resurrection – Jesus’ kingdom is not a kingdom we can measure in area – it is a kingdom of hearts and minds and works and commitment – it is a kingdom that political powers do not understand and cannot comprehend
• When we turn, then, to our text from the Revelation, we see, in part, an expansion of that same idea – note, first, that the author tells the readers that this is a revelation from God, that it is, in fact, prophecy – there is some confusion for many of us in this age because of the idea that prophecy is a prediction of the future – while it is true that there may sometimes be a future-oriented aspect to prophecy, a better understanding is that it is simply a message from God, an expression of God’s word and will
• The prophecy here, the word of God here in these verses from Revelation is that Jesus is coming and that all will see him – but the word concerning the kingdom is that Jesus has made us to be a kingdom – regardless of where we live, or under which rulers we live, if we are followers of Jesus Messiah, we are members of Jesus’ kingdom, which is not a place, but a way of being – in addition, Jesus is the ruler of the kings of the earth – the kings may not recognize Jesus’ authority, but, according to our tradition, ultimately they are accountable to Jesus
• Jesus’ reign extends over all the earth, wherever anyone worships in spirit and in truth, wherever anyone serves God

III. The Vision of God

• Many times in my months here at UBC, I have used the term “the Vision of God” – I am sure I have told you that a wise friend of mine first related this concept to me – it is a way of speaking of kings and kingdoms, of reign and realm, without the usual sorts of human baggage that accompanies those terms – so I would like to suggest that when Jesus speaks of the Kingdom of God, or of the Kingdom of Heaven, in the Gospels, we use the phrase “the Vision of God” instead – to me, the Vision of God conveys the same sense as the Kingdom of God, without the old, unilateral, monarchical emphasis of the latter
• The Vision of God is the expression of God’s will, at least as well as we can understand it – it is a vision of peace, of grace, of love, of service, of security – all of the same ideas as we see in the Kingdom of God – but the phrase also captures the sense of potential, of possibility, of hope that we might miss if we are thinking in the old terms
• To me, the Vision of God also emphasizes a different way of thinking about sovereignty – let me aver to you that I believe God is absolutely sovereign – God is free to act as God chooses – but that kind of absolute sovereignty is so far beyond human comprehension that God has chosen to limit God’s self, not to exercise sovereignty at the expense of human freedom and human choice – this is a huge risk on God’s part because it means that we are free to choose to ignore God, or not to believe in God, or not to love God, or not to love one another – these choices do not please God, but God allows us that freedom that the expense of God’s sovereignty
• We see this self-limitation in the ways God calls us to fellowship and communion – God does not compel anyone to accept Jesus as Messiah – God does not compel anyone to act as God wants us to act – we are not robots preprogrammed to live in the will of God – instead, God works in us and through us to persuade us and others to give ourselves to God – God is eternally creative and creating new possibilities, new relationships, new hope for us all
• In light of this idea of the Vision of God, how do we participate? – how do we live in and express the Vision? – of course, we do it by our love for one another – we participate in the Vision by our service to God, to the world, and to each other
• We also participate in the Vision of God by our stewardship of the earth and of our own resources – when we give our time and money to the church, we recognize our participation in the Vision – when we give our time and money to the service of others, we give ourselves over to the persuading Spirit of God in our lives
• For us to exercise good stewardship does not mean that we act foolishly, not with our time, our efforts, or our finances – God does not force us to give more that is wise of anything, and God certainly does not coerce us or force us to go beyond what is wise – but, on the other hand, God does urge us to be generous with everything we have and everything we are

IV. Conclusion

• As you have considered, in these past few weeks, your participation in the Vision of God through your financial and personal giving to UBC, I hope you have kept in mind all those great stories of giving in the Gospels – for example, Jesus’ affirmation of the widow who gave all she had, and the stories of Jesus’ giving of himself to so many who can to him in need – I hope you have kept in mind the needs of our mission and ministry here – and I hope you have kept in mind the great gift of grace we have all received through Jesus Messiah
• I ask that you commit yourself to participate in God’s Vision today – give of yourself, your time, your effort, your thought, your prayer – and give of your finances, not because anyone will force you, but because it is our privilege so to do

In part 4 we see how fullness of joy is found in God’s presence. What the world needs now more than anything is free, joyful Christians. This joy can not come through circumstance. Happiness comes from circumstance. Joy comes from knowing the Resurrected King Jesus. The one who beat death and promises to those who love Him that they will “never die.”

Link to Download MP3 AUDIO ONLY version – 11/15/09 – Invitation to His Presence

Baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech haolam, shehechiyanu, vkiyimanu, vhigiyanu, lazman hazeh.

Praised be You, Eternal our God, Ruler of the universe, who has kept us alive,
sustained us and permitted us to reach this season..

One down, 99 to go …

In Judaism, our sages teach us that we are supposed to say 100 blessings a day – 100 blessings that thank God for various things in our lives – eating a piece of bread, being in the presence of a great scholar, seeing a rainbow, waking up in the morning, drinking a glass of wine, or two, or three, or four if it’s Passover.  Even the very act of being alive merits a prayer that begins “Baruch atah adonai” – praised are you God, for giving “X.”

And so, our American Holiday expresses a very deep religious mandate – that of appreciation, of happiness, of joy. Our morning liturgy expresses this quite beautifully when we exclaim, “Mah Rabu Maasecha Adonai,” “How great are your works, O God!” WE are God’s works.

On Thanksgiving, we thank God for what is right next to us. Each other. We thank God for friendship, for love, for colleagues, for the power of community. It’s no wonder our pilgrims celebrated with a large feast, followed by a game of football, of course … Eating is communal, the act of eating in and of itself represents joy, a certain thanksgiving all its own!

This week’s Torah portion starts off very onimously; Jacob has just left his home, afraid for his life as he not only stole the birthright from Esau, but deceived his very own father into thinking he was, in fact, his older brother. Rebecca sends him away, by himself, with only his fears and insecurities. Exhausted, he falls asleep on a rock, has a dream of angels going up and down a ladder, and then wakes up, exclaiming something that may be the hallmark not only of Judaism, but of religion:

God was in this place and I did not know!

There’s a story of a famous rabbi – Rabbi Mendl Of Kotsk; he used to ask everyone he came across one simple question. “Where do you find God?” Answers were as diverse as the people he approached, of course. Once, after asking someone his famous question, someone threw it back onto him, saying, “Rabbi, where do YOU find God?” The Kotsker Rebbe answered, “I find God … wherever and whenever I let God in.”

God was in this place and I do not know. For me, at times in my life, I could say, “God IS in this place, and I do not know.” Put another way, a miracle is only a miracle, if we choose to view it AS a miracle. Our lives are a miracle, if we observe them as such. God is in our lives, but only if we choose and allow it.

I think our rabbis understood this when they commanded us to say 100 blessings a day. Because saying a blessnig does two things; it recognizes the power of a moment, bringing thanksgiving to an occurrence in your life; but also, the very SAYING of the blessing can create the power of a moment! It forces us to see that God not only WAS there, but IS here, and WILL be here.

Paris. 1922. If you were strolling around the Parisian streets that summer, you might have came across a newspaper called L’Intransigeant, a popular periodical at the time. It had a section that posed various thought-provoking questions, and its editorial staff solicited responses from French socialites and intellectuals. The topics ranged from the practical: “Do you have any suggestions for improving traffic congestion in Paris” to the philosophical: “What is the ideal education to give your daughter?” In the summer of 1922, one of its columnists posed the following question. I’d like to think it was meant for the special “High Holiday” issue of the paper. Here’s a translation of the question:

“An American scientist announces that the world will end, or at least that such a huge part of the continent will be destroyed, and in such a sudden way, that death will be the certain fate of hundreds of millions of people. If this prediction were confirmed, what do you think would be its effects on people between the time when they acquired the aforementioned certainty and the moment of cataclysm? Finally, as far as you’re concerned, what would you do in this last hour?”

A number of celebrities replied – writers, sportsmen, even a well-known palm reader. Some speculated that morality would cease to exist, as long term consequences will have vanished along with the foretold eschatological disaster. Others surmised that passions for worldly pleasures would consume one’s mind, so much so that people would forget about the apocalypse, up until the moment of its arrival.

How would you respond?

As we stand together on this night of Yom Kippur – this night of Kol Nidrei in which we think upon our past promises, our future vows, and our present self – a better question is: How WILL you respond?

Unlike the question posed in the newspaper, my question is not a hypothetical. I think it is perhaps the question of the High Holidays. And on Yom Kippur, as the gates are about to close, as we stand and pray with rumbling stomachs and slightly nervous hearts, we get ready for n’ilah, the final service – in which God locks the gates. We pray that each of us has a G’mar V’Hatimah Tovah ­– literally meaning a good sealing – a good ending. And so, our tradition asks each of us the same question as the secular Parisian paper: In this last hour, what will you do?

Yom Kippur reminds us of our own mortality. In many ways, it is a dress rehearsal for death. We afflict our bodies by fasting and our souls by confessing, we abstain from music and parties. We recite a vidui, a confession, a prayer that is only recited on two occasions – today, on Yom Kippur, and at the conclusion of each of our lives. We pray to a God that decides who shall die and who shall live, and as we say the words of the Unatanetokef prayer, verbalizing the ways that God can end our lives, we feel that yes, today is awesome, and full of dread. For on this day, God brings us to the precipice of death – confronting our true selves – our mortality – our finitude. And tomorrow evening, just as we light the Havdalah candle, God returns us to the tasks of our daily lives. But it won’t be the same – the journey will change us. We learn to die so that we learn to live.

Many of you may have scene the movie Fight Club, a movie I would recommend, but not for the faint of heart. It’s violence and dystopia are disturbing, but beyond the movie’s fast-paced editing and photography tricks lies a very insightful and inspirational message.

In one scene, the protagonist, Tyler Durden, walks into a Gas Station and forces the clerk outside. He steals his wallet, grabs his drivers license out and says, “Raymond K. Hessel. – before you worked at this gas station, what did you want to be?” Scared beyond belief, it takes Raymond a while to respond but when he does he shakily says, “I want to be a veterinarian.” Tyler says, “I’m going to check in on you in six months – you better be on your way to becoming a vet.” Later in the movie, the camera pans around After leaving the gas station, Tyler says, “Tomorrow morning, Raymond will eat breakfast. And it will taste better than any breakfast ever has.” Because Raymond feels a renewed purpose to his life, because he now has a second chance – he will look on his life with new eyes.

Judaism as well teaches us to look at things with new eyes. Each morning, Jews say “Mah Rabu Ma’asecha Adonai!” – How great and awesome are your works, O God. Like the thundering blast of the shofar, these liturgical words awaken us from our slumber, sensitizing us to the wonderment of living. But the routines of our lives dulls our appreciation; we lose what Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel calls radical amazement. What once was exciting is now dull. What was once an amazing love seems like a responsibility, or a burden. Wonderful friendships seem staid. Old hobbies no longer hold our attention. What once seemed so meaningful and special is now covered with dust. A popular comedy a few years back had a jaded 30-something looking at his daughter, wistfully remarking, “I wish I liked ANYTHING as much as my kids like bubbles.”

The act of daily living sometimes serves as a vaccine that renders us immune to … the miracle of daily living. Yom Kippur forces us to break the neglect that we’ve had for our own lives. It reminds us that there will be a last hour, a last day. And gives us a second chance to reclaim that sense of radical amazement.

Each of us is taught: “Repent one day before you die.” Of course, we don’t have full control over the length of our life’s journey, and so, the teaching goes, we must repent every day. Because we just don’t know. But on Yom Kippur, today is the day. And if we do our work, in some ways each of us will die – because we will emerge through the locked gates tomorrow with more courage, more openness, more kindness, more forgiveness, more hope. Yom Kippur is meant not just to inspire us, to comfort us, or even to discomfort us. It is meant to change us. To paraphrase the Rainer Maria Rilke quote I read last week, Yom Kippur helps each of us be a poet, with the ability to draw forth life’s riches.

(brief pause)

In high school, I once said: “I’m going to start a procrastination club. But you know what, not today.” Our biggest problem is not that our lives are too short, but that they are too long! We assume there will be a tomorrow. And a next week. And a next year. And so, we don’t go to veterinary school, we don’t apologize to loved ones, we don’t fulfill the very dreams that make us who we are. We have an assumption that tomorrow will be better – easier. Grudges will end. Disputes will disappear. All will be well. But Ironically, it is our insistence to push things forward into an idealized future that keeps us running along the same hamster wheel, perpetuating a status quo. Yom Kippur reminds us that we can wait no longer. Yom Kippur’s themes pull back the curtain on our illusory assumptions of a better future. This somber day screams to us that even as we pray today for a better tomorrow, we must create that better tomorrow, today. The difference can be summed up this way: John Mayer sings a song, “Waiting for the world to change.” Ghandi said, “BE the change you want to see in the world.”

Let’s return to our French paper in 1922, and the Yom Kippur themed question that it posed. I’m going to read the translated response of an author who had spent the last 12 years writing what would become one of literature’s most revered masterpieces, “In Remembrance of Things Past.” Coming in at well over a million words, it is a 7-volume work that looks back on the life of its protagonist, re-creating and analyzing memories, reflecting on life lived, drawing realizations from past events and people encountered. This 24 hour period is the same. Anyway, known to be a good sport, its author, Marcel Proust responded to the question.

I think that life would suddenly seem wonderful to us if we were threatened to die as you say. Just think of how many projects, travels, love affairs, studies, it – our life – hides from us, made invisible by our laziness which, certain of a future, delays them incessantly.

But let all this threaten to become impossible for however, how beautiful it would become again! Ah! If only the cataclysm doesn’t happen this time, we won’t miss visiting the new galleries of the Louvre, throwing ourselves at the feet of Miss X, making a trip to India.

The cataclysm doesn’t happen, we don’t do any of it, because we find ourselves back in the heart of normal life, where negligence deadens desire. And yet we shouldn’t have needed the cataclysm to love life today. It would have been enough to think that we are human.”

Once upon a time ….

The community was in crisis. It started as a slight food shortage, but turned into something much worse. Friends and families were fighting; attitudes were negative, and the general feeling in the town was not positive. The Ba’al Shem Tov, the community’s rabbi, went into the forest, prayed, and the next day, almost by magic, everything was fixed. People were happy, suffering stopped; the crisis went away.

But what the people didn’t know is that the Ba’al Shem Tov went into a very particular part of the forest, recited a very specific prayer, and lit a fire in a very specific, detailed way. Only after these rituals did God answer his prayers.

Anyway, years later, there was a crisis again, and this time, the Maggid of Mezrich, was the community rebbe. He did remember the precise spot of the forest, and he also remembered the detailed particulars of how the Ba’al Shem Tov lit the fire, but he did not remember the prayer. Nevertheless, God presented him a solution as well.

Hundreds of years later, there was yet another crisis, in that same small village. And there was no rebbe in the community. But one man, the village elder, stepped up and said that he would try. He walked deep into the forest, the fading sunlight trailing behind him. He didn’t know where in the forest to go. Nor did he remember the rituals involved in lighting the fire. He didn’t even remember the specific prayer. But he did remember that once, many years ago, there was a man named the Ba’al Shem Tov who did know these things And THAT was enough – a vague memory of a story. No rituals, no particulars. Just the memory.

This is one of my favorite stories. My professor Lenny Kravitz would call it amphibolous, open to more than one meaning. On one hand, the story reflects the power of memory: we have nostalgia for our ancestors in the shtetl; we reference allusions to Tevya’s outbursts of “Tradition,” We recite the constant liturgical reminders that God freed us from Egypt. And today, we ask God to “remember” us onto life. It is this command, this mitzvah – to zachor – to remember – that appears more than any other command in the entire Torah. This story, then, is itself a memory – a memory highlighting the tremendous power of Jewish memory. That’s one perspective.

Once upon a time …

1992 was my first summer as a camp counselor. After I graduated High School, I wanted to try and be a counselor. That first day, I felt like I was surrounded by giants. Those Camp Colemanites who knew every cheer, and knew when to insert what words into the birkat hamazon. For those of you who grew up at camps, you know who you are … Anyways, I was wide eyed with wonder and shell-shocked with nervousness. Bobby, our camp director brought the staff together during orientation and taught us a lesson that is as much Torah as … well .. .the Torah. “Every tradition begins with a new idea.”

During these high holidays, each of us walks through a dark forest, looking for help. Health issues, financial troubles, relationship problems, regrets, anger … we come here with our hopes, andalso with our pain. And, we too want to know the formula to fix it. And we can either do what those before us did, down to the minutia of arranging sticks in a particular position before lighting a fire, or we can create new traditions.

Many of us know Jewish history. We went to Hebrew school, many of us had a bar or bat mitzvah, some of us attend adult education classes. But whereas we are somewhat aware of Jewish biography, we are hard pressed to think about a spiritual AUTO-biography.

Our tradition teaches us that we pray to the “God of Abraham, God of Isaac, god of Jacob,” in order that we can also learn to pray to the “God of ME.” We need to move beyond history, and toward experience. The focus is not third person learning, but first person life. Theology IS autobiography. Make new memories.

This is the flip side to the forest story. As beautiful as it is, I also find this story heartbreaking. Despite living in different times and different circumstances, each rabbi or leader feels obligated to do exactly what the Ba’al Shem Tov did, instead of finding their OWN solution. Instead of creating a new tradition, they hold on to a shadow of a forgotten memory.

It reminds me of the story about Rabbi Zusya, who is found crying at his desk. He comes upon the epiphany that God does not want him to be as courageous as Abraham, or a leader like Moses. No, God wants Zusya to be Zusya. Make new memories.

Last week, I was lucky enough to be invited to the Filmstreams Gala Event. We watched as the acclaimed actress Debra Winger along with out own local Omaha boy, Alexander Payne had an intimate, charming conversation. Debra referred to moving cinematic experiences as “once upon a time” events – she talked about the power of movies to change us, to enlighten us, to challenge us.

We can use this as a metaphor for the memories of our lives; these “once upon a time memories” are the moments that you remember forever. They made you laugh, they made you reflect, they made you cry, they made you … you. And even though the event itself ends, even though our memories-our forests- have boundaries to them, they loop back into us like a klein bottle.

A klein bottle is an optical illusion in which the spout of a bottle goes back into itself. The source feeds the result, and that result becomes a new source. Every tradition began as a new idea. Our memories feed our soul. The challenge is that they can either keep us stuck – going round and round in an endless feedback loop. At the same time, it is these same memories that can free us.

Paul Simon sang, “Preserve your memories; they are all that’s left of you.” As we celebrate holidays, observe sacred rites, chant the Torah, and observe the mitzvot, as we come here to reflect and remember, we recall our “once upon a time” moments, recalling the forests, the fires, and the rituals.

But we do not just hearken toward the past; we hope for the future. And that future is uncertain. I’ve mentioned before that the Day of Atonement is really the Day of MAYBE. Because MAYBE we will be inscribed in the book of life. MAYBE we’ll have health and prosperity. MAYBE we’ll meet someone special. MAYBE the Huskers will have a good season.

This is the power of Genesis. As disturbing as it is, the story of the binding of Isaac, the Akeidah , highlights an incredible character trait of Abraham. He was able to let go. Most of his life was built upon a promise of future descendants. And this is exactly what God asks him to sacrifice. Abraham volunteers to throw out a future that was foretold by none less than God. Abraham doesn’t hesitate; he’s unafraid to walk into a new forest, to light a new fire, creating new rituals, and dreaming new dreams. And we are his descendants.

For me, those Torah covers are white not merely to convey a sense of purity and moral strength, but also the vast openness of possibility. If we let them.

I think Paul Simon is wrong; memories are not all that is left of us. It is precisely the opposite – what’s left of us, as we reflect upon our past, is the ability to create new memories.

Rainer Maria Wilke wrote,

“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches.”

And Our Torah …. in just two words: choose life.

We ask God to inscribe us in the book of life. But really, I think it’s the other way around. God asks US to inscribe OURSELVES. God wants me to journey into the dark forest. God wants me to recall the memories of stories of others, understanding their fires and rituals. And then, to create my own.

Once upon a time … That time is now. What’s the rest of the story?

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; they’re all that’s left you

- Paul Simon

It was a late night at Camp Coleman. There were no cabin hoppers, Malka had tucked everyone into bed, counselors had already come back from Hofbra … I mean, Huddle House. But high on Mount Yonah, one man was restless. He was expecting to see his long lost friend for the “Bavarian Get-Together” reunion, but he hadn’t shown up yet. Thinking his friend might be lost, he started walking toward Cleveland, on Rt 129. After walking quite a ways, he heard a rustling. Scared, he jumped into a pit right next to mile marker 14. He waited to see what the rustling may have been – because after all … he feared it was … Joe McCarthy.

His friend was lost as well. Instead of going to Yonah, he ended up in Cleveland, and around mile marker 14, heard some rustling, also got scared, and jumped into a ditch.

Both friends startle each other, start laughing uncontrollably and hug each other fiercly. And each keeps asking, “How did this happen?!”

Well, wouldn’t you know it, a rabbi HAPPENED to be walking out of Camp Coleman at that exact moment. The rabbi whispers something to each long lost friend. Each, exclaim, “the Reform Rabbi is right! I am here because of you and you are here because of me.”

And here we are; regardless of when we were. Right now, we’re all in that same place, near mile marker 14 – I am here because of you. You are here because of me.

———–

We’re toward the end of our Torah – in these last portions, Moses reminds the Israelites of what they’ve been through, constantly commanding them – commanding us – to remember; Moses tells us to remember that “my father was a fugitive Aramean,” a line we repeat every year at the Passover table. He commands us to remember that God freed us from Egypt with an outstretched arm. He commands us to remember the miracles and signs that God performed. It is this command, this mitzvah, that is repeated more than any other verb in the entirety of our Torah – the command to remember.

The Israelites are on the cusp of entering the promised land. But instead of moving forward – instead of entering that promised land of milk and honey, they pause. In fact, for almost a fifth of the torah – this entire book of Deuteronomy, they stop to reflect. And to prioritize what they have gone through; to organize the memories of their lives, taking stock of their lives – and as Moses constantly reminds them, to remember the signs and miracles that God has given. We’re having a “Deutoronomy” of sorts right here …

And we remember pretty well. We remember where our names are located on color war plaques. We remember where in the art room we painted our names. We remember who our camp mommy was in 1981. We remember where we were when the tornado came. We remember the times we beat the Barney staff at basketball … Oh wait, maybe not. And for those many of us who came back year after year, it was to keep those memories going.

One of my most important camp memories is also one of the first. 1992 – it was my first summer at Camp Coleman. Too nervous to go as a camper, I decided to try to be a counselor, and came to Camp just after I graduated High School. That first day, I felt that I was surrounded by GIANTS – those Colemanites who knew every song and cheer, the exact path of the James Bond trail, and when to insert what words into the birkat hamazon. You know who you are. I was wide-eyed with wonder and shell-shocked with nervousness. That summer, there was another first timer, who also happened to be the new camp director, Bobby Harris. He brought the staff together into a circle and said, “Every tradition begins with a new idea.” Now for some of the staff who had come with long camp memories, a new idea was cancelling Stanley Cup Night or God forbid, changing to 4 teams for Maccabiah.

Life experience changes tradition. Whether it’s 40 years of wandering the desert, or the transition from camper to staff. It HAS to!

If we went by tradition alone, our spiritual life would be nothing but historical re-creation. In the amidah that we just sung, we said the words “god of Abraham, god of Isaac, god of Jacob, sarah ….” These emphasize that our relationship with God is not one that is learned; it is one that is experienced. It’s not one to be copied or emulated; it’s one to be created, just as we learn from tradition, to make them our own. And for so many of us, we created this here.

And so, as the seasons go round and round, we are in fact on a carousel of time. But it doesn’t go round and round. It spirals – because we, like the Israelites, move forward – I always say that camp helped me to discover talents. Helped us to discover challenges we then worked on overcoming. Taught us how to swing a bat, swim, run a program, be a friend, lead a service, work as a team. Memories aren’t all that’s left of us. It’s the possibility to CREATE memories that is left of us.

I’ve seen the film, Indian Summer, 10 times or so. And every time, toward the end of the movie, there’s one line that gets me. Many of you have probably seen this movie – it’s about a group of thirty somethings that go back to Camp Tamawka, where they grew up at. Anyway, two characters want to take over the camp from the most legendary of camp counselors/mentors/daddy’s/gamad/what have you, “Unca Lou.” The problem is that they don’t have money to buy the camp. Without skipping a beat, Unca Lou says he’ll just give it to them, saying, , “On paper it’s nothing but a bunch of old buldings. Just old buildings.”

On paper, our Torah is just a bunch of words. But put it together with a few hundred people in a small town secluded within the woods of northern Georgia, put a dairy queen a few miles out and a Bavarian Village nearby, and there’s something life-changing. We talk about camp in job interviews, we try talk about it with other friends who look at us like we’re nuts; it’s in our soul. For me …. this place, these relationships – this is part of my Torah. As I re-tell my story, my Deuteronomy, this is the place I grew up, and became a better part of myself.

As the days came closer to this weekend, I kept checking the list of who is coming to this reunion?! Thinking back to past summers, I remember as each summer started, I wondered if so-and-so would be here THIS summer. Bobby, you started a tradition during staff orientation where we talked about those that weren’t able to be here, for one reason or another.

This weekend, I think of Jo-Ellen Unger, Malka Altman, Mike Russo, Alan Levy – the first person to say hello to me on the misrad porch that summer of 1992. Each of us has a huge list of these people, people who influenced us, or taught us, or simply made us smile. And as we did last night, we think of those who have passed away. I think about Elizabeth Harr, Jason Boas, and Shelly Plotkin. Each of us bears witness to the memory of those who gave this place life. And continue to. They too are with us this weekend. They are part of our Deuteronomy; they are written on the Torah scroll of our lives.

I am here because of you, and you are here because of me. Our shared memories of this place are part of who we are – but they will also lead us to the first book of our Torah, to Genesis, as we make new memories, giving space for new people and new ideas to be added to our own, continuing to transform this place of old buildings, to our home of Camp Coleman.

(sing) I wanna sing sing sing I wanna shout shout shout I wanna sing I wanna shout, praise the lord!

Praising the Lord, giving thanks to God, it’s a huge liturgical theme in our liturgy. We thank God for allowing us to wake up, for giving us the miracles of daily life. We give praise for health, for jobs, for friendship, for love. The rabbis teach us that we are to thank God at least 100 times a day – 100 blessings. Whether it be the thankfulness we feel when we break bread at a meal, or the exuberant joy at a wedding, Jews are commanded to show gratitude. Our Talmud teaches this when it asks, “Who is wise?” the answer, “He that is happy with his lot.” To be happy means to appreciate. To notice. To take stock. And we do that through song. (talk about psalm 150 for a bit)

This weekend, Jews celebrate “Shabbat Shira,” the Sabbath of song. It is called that due to this weeks reading from the Torah, taken from the book of Exodus. After 420 years of slavery, God performed ten plagues – ten miracles, and Pharoah finally let them go. With Moses as their guide, they walked out of Egypt. But there was a problem; Pharoah changed his mind and sent his strongest men and fastest horses after them. The Egyptian army was close behind them, and in front of them, the imposing obstacle of the Red Sea. At the last possible moment, making for drama of the highest order, God splits the Red Sea, the Isrealites walk through.

As they march through the sea, Moses starts singing. And suddenly, not unlike a Broadway play in which characters channel their feelings through spontaneous song, all the Israelites were singing in unison: Mi Chamocha BaElim Adonai – Who is like YOU god?

At every fixed prayer service in the Jewish liturgical calendar, we sing this song – the same words that we sang thousands of years ago. The song brings us back to this moment, reminding us of the miracle of the Red sea, certainly, but also the miracles of our daily lives. It focuses our thoughts and intentions. And that is the power of song.

You hear a song on the radio and think of your high school graduation, your first kiss, your wedding, your job, your children, a dance, a deceased relative. Song helps us remember. Music acts as a soulful mnemonic device – a means to forever hold a moment in our brain, and our heart.

Here’s another story:

The Israelites were standing in front of a large body of water. Enemies were behind them, closing in fast. God splits the sea. Israelites go to safety. Sound familiar?

This story, though, refers not to the splitting of the Red Sea. It takes place in a different part of the Bible, in the book of Joshua. But whereas the crossing of the Red Sea is embedded into our souls, our daily liturgy 3 times a day, our Passover celebration and our collective memory, the Joshua tale is relegated mostly to text study and adult education classes. But Why?! The two stories, the narratives, are exactly the same.

One might argue that this incident must pale in comparison to what happened at the Dead Sea. Except if anything, this story is MORE powerful! The story occurs as the Israelites are on the cusp of reaching the promised land, Israel. It’s a glorious moment, as powerful as any cinematic images we have of the Red Sea. This is the compliment to our Exodus story, if not the culmination of it. In terms of historical significance, there is nothing as powerful as finally gaining entrance to the promised land, something that was first promised to Abraham so many generations earlier.

On this Sabbath of Song, I argue that the only difference between the two stories is that of song – in the second, as the miracle happened, there was not a self-realization of that miracle – there was no song. The song at the Red Sea did not just commemorate a historical event, it also helped to create one.

Lawrence Kushner, a Reform Rabbi, tells this story: When the Red Sea parted; everyone was running through the Red Sea, celebrating, dancing, hugging. But there were two guys in back who just didn’t get it. They were complaining. They were walking through the river and were complaining about the smell, wondering when it would be lunch time. After a few minutes, one of their friends said, “Guys! Look up!” It was then that they NOTICED the walls of the Red Sea, surrounding them in comfort, in freedom, and in community. And then started singing.

To me, the moral of the story is this – a miracle is not a miracle unless we choose to look at it AS a miracle. Singing forces us to look up.

Singing causes us to stop and observe the “walls” that are around us in our lives. Whereas it’s extremely easy to read without passion and energy, singing requires intention and effort, thoughtfulness and energy.

This Song of the Sea – it was snug in a certain place, at a certain point in history, and by certain group of people. Whereas the song is particular, its message is universal – each of our lives gives us all sorts of moments, all sorts of miracles, if we dare to see them. We can choose to walk through life so that we smell the dead fish, complaining of hunger and exhaustion, or we can look up, hold hands with our brothers and sisters and exclaim,

( sing) I wanna sing sing sing I wanna shout shout shout I wanna sing I wanna shout praise the Lord!