Matthew 6:25-33

‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, “What will we eat?” or “What will we drink?” or “What will we wear?” For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God* and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

Believe it or not, I was a little scared of Dave Duff when he started coming around Cross of Grace five years, or so, ago. Maybe “intimidated” is a better word than “scared” – and it had much more to do with me than with him, really – but I was worried…, concerned…, curious…, at the very least, to see how this grandfather, from the Nazarene-flavored tradition of the Christian church was going to fit in and follow along and be filled by the way we Lutheran-flavored Christians do things.

And when he called to set up an appointment to “sit down and talk,” in my office, with Linda by his side – after you’d been with us for a while – I thought I was in for it. I thought I was going to hear about all the ways our liberal, progressive Lutheran theology was off-base and out of whack and not in-keeping with everything he’d come to believe, through his faithful, capable, prolific, wise study and understanding of Scripture. (Dave Duff knew his Bible, you know.) Mostly, I was worried he was going to tell me all of that as an explanation for why he wouldn’t be coming around any longer.

Well shame on me for my short-sightedness, for my assumptions, and for my limited understanding of just how wise and gracious he could be. It helped – and gave me great hope – to learn that, in addition to all of his church background and history, he was also a Buckeye, of course – and it’s no exaggeration to say that that conversation changed – and raised – my expectations of people.

See, among other things, Dave set up that meeting to tell me about how pleasantly surprised he was that we call each other Partners in Mission – and that we mean it; by how freely we welcome and encourage each other around here to get our hands dirty doing the work of the Church. And Dave went on to embrace and to demonstrate that in a million ways over the years by leading several sessions of the Dave Ramsey Financial Peace University class; by leading workshops for writers and writing devotionals, himself; and most meaningfully for him, lately, I think, by becoming one of our Eucharistic Ministers and sharing communion as often as he could with some of our folks who can’t always make it to worship.

In a nutshell, during that meeting in my office, I think he wanted to let me know that, while he wasn’t sure of, or sold on, this whole “Lutheran thing” altogether just yet, that he was still on a journey of faithfulness and discipleship; that he was still growing, at his age; that God wasn’t done with him, yet; and, I think, he wanted to understand and grow into what we Lutherans try so hard to show and to share when it comes to the grace we proclaim for all of God’s children, because some of that was new and different and challenging for him, in a good and holy kind of way.

He also let me know, in so many words, that if all of this was good enough for the Blachly family, it was good enough for him, because, he relished the gift of worshiping with his family as much as anything.

Well, when we talked the other day, Linda and Liz, we talked about how today was intended to be more about the worship of God and celebration of the Gospel of Jesus – and less about Dave. And that that’s what Dave would prefer. But that’s a hard thing to do where someone like Dave Duff is concerned, because the God we worship and the Gospel we celebrate were so central to who he was and to how he lived.

And what Dave Duff taught us, if we were paying attention, is that the promises of Scripture are true. That God’s kingdom is alive and well among us. That God’s heaven is not just something to wait for – up there and out there, on the other side of eternity – but that the Kingdom of God is worth striving for and that it is, indeed, right here in our midst and there are ways to achieve it and to experience it and to share it with the world.

And Dave did that in more ways than we can count. He did it in big ways by traveling the globe on mission trips to share the Gospel and through his passion for that Jesus film he shared with so many people around the world. He did it in small ways, too. I remember asking him to lead a prayer in our Bethel Bible Study class once and he prayed – by name – for the family members of people in this congregation I didn’t even know he knew. He studied his Bible – alone and in groups; he showed up for prayer vigils; he was in worship as often as he could be; he gave his money generously – tithing, from what I can guess, and with no strings attached. He lived as a disciple and it changed his life and impacted the world around him.

He told me about an epiphany he had at the communion table once – where he suddenly felt surrounded by a “cone of love” (those were his words) – and where he was reminded, by revelation of sorts, about the power of God’s body and blood and the healing redemption they bring; healing redemption which surpasses even the most advanced chemo-therapy. He talked about how, while he had been feeling compelled to find time and find a place to meet up with God for more prayer and devotion as he struggled with his illnesses, that Sunday morning came and that – right then and there – in the communion line, eating bread and drinking wine (or grape juice, as it were, thanks to that Nazarene background!), he realized that God had already found him.

It was Dave’s joy, don’t get me wrong to find and make time for God and he made as much of it as anyone could. But even when he didn’t – even when he couldn’t – he realized, God came to him; God found him; God filled him, in bread and wine, in body and blood; God surrounded him with love and forgiveness and mercy, through the fellowship of his friends and family. And in all of that Dave experienced – right here, in this life, in spite of his illness, and struggle, and sin, and even until his dying day – he experienced hope; he experienced eternity; he experienced the love of Christ; he experienced the Kingdom of God – grace…on earth as it is in heaven. Grace, right here on earth, just as it is in the heaven for which he waited.

And I believe that’s what he would have us remember and celebrate on his behalf today, and for as long as we remember and give thanks for his time among us.

At the end of that two-year Bethel Bible Study course we offer here, which Dave and Linda finished a couple years back, I make it a practice of sharing a verse with each student as a way of celebrating how I have seen God at work in and through their lives over the course of the study.

The verse I gave to Dave was from Ephesians 3:18-19. It says:

“I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

See, from what I could tell, Dave spent a lot of time, like so many of us do, trying to make rational, logical, educated, academic-kind-of-sense of his faith and of God’s gospel. He was an engineer, after all. And all of that wisdom and intellect served him – and the rest of us – quite well.

But I think God did a work of transformation for and through Dave in recent years – and maybe in some ways, thanks to his illness – to such a degree that God’s grace revealed itself in new, different, surprising ways for him. He told me once that he was grateful for the “gift” of his prostate cancer because it was “better than dropping dead of a heart attack.” Again, those are his words.

And I think he was grateful, not just because the slow progress of his disease gave him time to plan and prepare and to say and to share all the things that need saying at times like these. But I think he was grateful because he was able to count his blessings differently, over the last couple of years – this illness wasn’t anything any amount of wisdom or intellect or study could make sense of or fix or cure, in the end.

But in spite of it and thanks to all the ways God found and cared and loved him through it, Dave was able to be grateful for God’s presence in his life – over the course of his life. And he was able to revel, in advance, in the grace that was his in this life – and to hope with all the faith he could find – for the grace that was to come, and that is surely his now, thanks be to God.

Amen

Matthew 11:25-30

At that time Jesus said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

There is a famous Buddhist story about a woman who loses a child. The story goes that when the grieving mother is unable to accept her son’s passing, she demands medicine from the doctor, who knows full well that nothing will cure the dead boy. The doctor sends the grieving mother to the Buddha, who tells her to go out and collect five white mustard seeds from households where no one has suffered. (Presumably, the mustard seeds would be used for some kind of medicine.)

So the woman goes door to door, from neighbor to neighbor, explaining that she needs medicine for her child. Many people offer to give her mustard seeds, but every time she asks the householder if they have lost someone close to them – [every time she inquires about their suffering] – the answer is always yes. Eventually she goes back to the Buddha, empty-handed.

“Have you brought me the mustard seeds?” he asks.

“No,” she tells him. “But now I understand there is no one who has not lost someone they love – there is no one who has never suffered – and I have laid my child to rest.”

None of what we’re up to tonight is about dismissing our struggles and our sufferings, simply because everyone suffers at some time or another. None of this is about measuring the weight of our burdens or the severity of our sadness by comparing our suffering to that of others. I feel like every year I need to explain that this whole Blue Christmas “thing” is not about wallowing in our grief or crying in our beer, simply for the sake of it.

All of this, for me this year, anyway, is about gathering together – because of and in spite of what hurts or scares or confuses us most – especially at a time like Christmas – and looking for seeds.

Like the Buddha did for that grieving mother, this opportunity for worship on “The Longest Night” doesn’t need to be any more or less than a chance to do something in the face of the suffering and struggle that is part of our lives and that surrounds us in this world. The Buddha never had any intention of curing or healing or resurrecting the woman’s child with any magic potion, made from the mustard seeds he knew she’d never collect. The Buddha knew she’d learn something by doing… by searching… by encountering others… by telling her story and by hearing about the sadness of others along the way.

Because it is worth gathering with friends and family, with neighbors and strangers, even, and acknowledging what God already knows:

That we are hurting and scared by the world where we live. Because of Aleppo and Berlin. Because of Russia and Iraq. Because of presidential elections and political divides. Because of Tennessee fires and racial tensions, the list is so long there’s no time to check it twice.

And there’s much more, much closer to home, too.

We are here because our family is falling apart at the seams – or at least it feels that way, at times.

We are here because marriages are failing.

We are here because we love people who are dying, or because we’ve lost one-too-many loved ones this past year.

We are here because we don’t have money to pay the bills like we’d prefer, let alone enough to make Christmas everything we wish it could be.

We are here because we struggle with addictions no one knows about but us.

We are here because the years are moving faster than we’d like and because we can’t seem to slow it all down enough to get things under control.

We are here because we’ve made bad choices and we’re not sure what the next decision should be.

We are here because it’s hard to be a mother or a father; a husband or a wife; a daughter or a son; a sister or a brother; a better friend… a better employee…a better whatever.

And I hope that while we gather – as we search for seeds, or solutions, or answers, or miracles, even – we notice, like the woman in the story learned, that we are not alone. Not only is it healing and helpful to see that others are struggling and searching right along with us, but I hope we are reminded that we – and the suffering and struggles of our lives – are precisely why God shows up in Jesus – in the first place.

Because all of that is about reminding us that our problems aren’t solved with seeds – or pills or potions; our struggles don’t disappear when we do the right thing; our suffering doesn’t end when we follow all the rules. God never promises us any of that.

What God does promise us – what God does is – to show up in the form of Jesus, this one we can look upon and recognize in the faces and in the faith of those around us. Like the woman who thought she was looking for seeds, but really found what she needed in the hearts and lives of her neighbors, God wants the same for us, when we go waiting and hoping and looking for Jesus, together, at Christmas.

God wants for us to find, in one another, some common ground; a familiar face; a comforting presence; willing partners for the journey; a knowing that brings comfort and peace and hope.

Which is what we’re meant to find in Jesus – Emmanuel – “God with us,” too: common ground, a familiar face, real presence, one who has walked the way already, one who knows what is done, what is left undone and everything in between.

So here, we can raise a voice – in song, in sorrow, or in prayer; we can raise a white flag in submission and trust; we can raise a fist in defiant rebellion; we can even raise a middle finger – if you know what I mean – to the struggles with which we are so tired of contending.

Whatever the case… tonight – and all of Christmas, really – is an invitation to open ourselves to the presence of God, made known through the company of one another, and to hand it all over – the good, the bad, and the ugly of our lives – until we are loved into submission, loved into forgiveness, loved into hope, loved into whatever else God promises to birth from the seeds of even our deepest despair.

Amen. Merry Christmas.

Dave Duff - Matthew 6:25-33

Blue Christmas – Matthew 11:25-30