Radio commentator Earl Nightingale once told the story of an angry father shouting, "Why don't you grow up?" at his 12-year-old son. The boy struggled to control his tears, but finally blurted out amid the sobs, "That's what I'm trying to do!"

"If I sold my house and my car, had a big garage sale and gave all my money to the church, would that get me into Heaven?" I asked the children in my Sunday School class.

"NO!" the children all answered.

"If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the yard, and kept everything neat and tidy, would that get me into Heaven?"

Again, the answer was, "NO!"

"Well, then, if I was kind to animals and gave candy to all the children and loved my wife, would that get me into Heaven?" I asked them again.

Again, they all answered, "NO!"

"Well," I continued, "then how can I get into Heaven?" A five-year-old boy shouted out, "YOU GOTTA BE DEAD."

In the summer of 1971 I had gone to Munich to study German. It was my first time in "the Fatherland," and I suppose I had half expected to find blond, blue-eyed kids yodeling on street corners, or adults heading to work in Lederhosen humming Beethoven's 9th.  Instead, blaring from every Italian Pizza Parlor, every Turkish shish kabob stall or ubiquitous McDonald's was the 1971 Lynn Anderson hit song, "I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden."

Some of you may even remember the words: it was a rather banal ditty, uttering the commonplace wisdom that sunshine and rain are part of every life. But hearing this American hit song in Munich played havoc with my expectations. In fact, it was such a culture shock that the memory remains vivid even today, three decades later.

Two millennia later Mark's Gospel continues to recall the culture shock the apostles had when the cost of discipleship finally dawned on them; when their expectations of the reign of God came face-to-face with hard-nosed reality; when fascination and enthusiasm with this Jesus began to be transformed into self-sacrificing commitment.

1. Only published one book.
2. It was in Hebrew.
3. It had no references.
4. He did not publish it in referenced journals.
5. Some doubt He even wrote it Himself.
6. He is not known for His cooperative work.
7. Sure, He created the world, but what has He done lately?
8. He did not get permission from any review board to work with human subjects.
9. When one experiment went awry, He tried to cover it up by drowning all the subjects.
10. When sample subjects do not behave as predicted, He deletes the whole sample.
11. He rarely comes to class--just tells His students to read the Book.
12. It is rumored that He sometimes lets His Son teach the class.
13. Although He only has 10 requirements, His students often fail His tests.
14. He expelled His first two students for learning.
15. His office hours were infrequent and usually held on a mountain top.

Years ago (1979), as a hundred thousand fans watched, Richard Petty ended his 45-race losing streak and picked up stockcar racing's biggest purse - $73,900. It all happened at the Daytona 500.

Petty's win, however, was a complete surprise. Going into the last lap, he was running 30 seconds behind the two leaders. All at once the car in second place tried to pass the No. 1 man on the final stretch. This caused the first car to drift inside and force the challenger onto the infield grass, and slightly out of control. What happened next was incredible. The offended driver pulled his car back onto the track, caught up with the leader, and forced him into the outside wall. Both vehicles came to a screeching halt. The two drivers jumped out and quickly got into an old-fashioned slugging match. In the meantime, third-place Petty cruised by for the win.

And Jesus said, "The first shall be last."

I have told you many stories about the Rev. Robert E. Baxter. He is a brilliant Hebrew scholar, an engaging preacher, but he is also an extraordinary investor! The secret to his success is (promise not to tell anyone) he is a contrarian. It works like this. When he reads in the paper that Coca Cola stock is soaring, he will not buy Coke because others will. He buys Coke when the news is bad and holds it. He is a true contrarian investor. He doesn't follow the crowd. He leaves them and goes to the back of the line where the investing is good.

Peter and the disciples need to learn about contrarian investing and how it works with the Lord. You see, Peter was upset. Jesus had told the rich young ruler to give it all away and follow Him. The disciples had done that. Peter was asking, What's in it for me? Jesus told him that the first shall be last and the last shall be first. This is the Christian contrarian way to wealth and reward in the kingdom of God. Jesus was teaching that following Christ is not subtraction. It is multiplication. Not just tenfold. Jesus promises a hundredfold.

The word "humility" means literally a low estimate of self. But this does not imply self-deprecation. When you hear someone deprecating himself, usually you can put it down as a sort of counterfeit humility. Someone has said, "The true way to be humble is not to stoop until you are smaller than yourself, but to stand at your full height before some higher nature that will show you how small your greatness is." "Walk humbly with thy God." Here is where we learn true humility. Walking with God, seeing ourselves by the side of His greatness, we see how little we are. And seeing how little we are is the first step toward becoming what we can and ought to be.

We never become truly great, we never do our best work until we are "clothed with humility"; until, like our Lord and Savior, we are willing to live to serve others.

A persistent judgment leveled against parents today is this: they gladly provide their children with every resource: Leaders, coaches, teachers, tutors, and youth workers. Certainly children should be happy and well-adjusted. They have everything money can buy. But they do not have the listening ear of Mom and Dad. "Too busy, later, not now, I'm working hard for your good." Recall the old saying:

For the want of a nail the shoe was lost;
for the want of a shoe the horse was lost;
for the want of a horse the rider was lost;
for the want of the rider the battle was lost.

It is still true. For want of a quiet, caring intimacy, a child's primary sense of self-worth is lost. And for want of security and self-worth, the child is lost. In most churches I've known, members find it quite easy to pass a youth by; they are more timid to engage a child than a stranger in conversation. Frequently, when youth are on committees, little sensitivity is expressed toward making them comfortable and enabling them to contribute.

"What do you think of the candidates?" That's what a reporter for a news magazine asked a young woman at Dartmouth University after a debate among presidential hopefuls. She didn't say a word about their positions on the issues or their skill at debate. She simply remarked, "None of them seems to have any humility."

Benjamin Franklin, the early American statesman, made a list of character qualities that he wanted to develop in his own life. When he mastered one virtue, he went on to the next. He did pretty well, he said, until he got to humility. Every time he thought he was making significant progress, he would be so pleased with himself that he became proud.

Humility is an elusive virtue. Even Jesus' disciples struggled with it. When Jesus learned that they had been arguing about who was the greatest, He responded, "If anyone desires to be first, he should be last of all and servant of all" (Mk. 9:35). Then He took a little child in His arms and indicated that we need to humbly serve others as if we were serving Christ.

If a news reporter were to talk to our friends, neighbors, or fellow church members and ask them to describe us, would they use the word humble?

When Mike Peters won the Pulitzer Prize for political cartoons (1981), he wasn't expecting the honor. He described his response by saying, "It is like you are asleep and it is 2 in the morning and you are hugging your pillow and you are in your funny pajamas and somebody bursts through the door and they come over and start shaking you and they say, 'Wake up, wake up!' And you say, 'What is it?' And they say, 'You have just won the Boston Marathon!' And you say, 'But I'm not running in the Boston Marathon.' And they say, 'Doesn't make any difference, you won.'"

We can find at least one element that is common to both Mike Peters' analogy and the account in Mark 9. Jesus taught that heaven too will hold some surprises. Honor and glory will be granted for behavior that was so natural, so undistinguished, and so noncompetitive.

Take, for instance, the simple illustration of receiving a child in Jesus' name. He was talking about having a humble servant attitude, being willing to reach out and help the lowliest of people so that we might show them the love of Christ. Such simple acts will be greatly rewarded.

Yes, many of God's children will be surprised to find that their faithful service has brought them top honors.

Some years ago St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City was seeking a new president. Over one hundred candidates applied for the position. The search committee narrowed the list to five eminently qualified persons. Then somebody came up with a brilliant idea: let's send a person to the institutions where each of the five finalists is currently employed, and let's interview the janitor at each place, asking him what he thinks of the man seeking to be our president. This was done and a janitor gave such a glowing appraisal of William MacElvaney that he was selected President of St. Paul's School of Theology.

Somebody on that search committee understood, in a flash of genius, that those who live close to Christ become so secure in his love that they no longer relate to other people according to rank or power or money or prestige. They treat janitors and governors with equal dignity. They regard everybody as a VIP. Children seem to do this intuitively; adult Christians have to relearn it.

It is a telling little peace of scripture in verse 32: "But they did not understand." That's a picture that can be hung in the halls of the museum of mankind. When confronted by true greatness, we simply do not see it. That's what happens to the disciples. One day Jesus is passing through Galilee with his disciples. We are told that he did not want anyone in the area to know where they were? Why is that? Because, he had something important to tell them. It was a strategic part of his plan. "The Son of Man" he explains, "is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him," now listen to what he says here, "and after three days he will rise." There it was. The whole plan laid out before them. The crucifixion and the resurrection. They should have been curious. They should have asked questions. They could have seen the significance. But the best they could muster up was a blank stare and silence. They could not understand it because it did not meet the measure of greatness.

How do we grow to the point that we stop measuring people by their successes and start regarding people for their service, for their sacrifices? What is greatness in the kingdom of God?

1. Greatness Is Hardly Ever Recognized.
2. Greatness Is Never About Promotion.
3. Greatness Is Found In Service To All.

There was a tribe of Indians who lived a long time ago in the state of Mississippi. They lived next to a very swift and dangerous river. The current was so strong that if somebody happened to fall in or stumbled into it they could be swept away downstream.

One day the tribe was attacked by a hostile group of settlers. They found themselves with their backs against the river. They were greatly outnumbered and their only chance for escape was to cross the rushing river. They huddled together and those who were strong picked up the weak and put them on their shoulders; the little children, the sick, the old and the infirm, those who were ill or wounded were carried on the backs of those who were strongest. They waded out into the river, and to their surprise they discovered that the weight on their shoulders carrying the least and the lowest helped them to keep their footing and to make it safely across the river.

Jesus is trying to teach the disciples an object lesson about greatness, about servanthood, about leadership. He is saying to them and to us, "Have you lost the childlike joy and love and faith that once were yours?" He is also saying to them and to us, "If you want to walk on secure ground in this world it helps to carry someone with you."

Jesus and his disciples were coming to the town of Capernaum. As they entered the house where they would be staying, he asked his disciples, "What were you arguing about on the road?" But they kept quiet, says the writer of Mark's Gospel, because on the way they had argued about who was number one among them.

So, the disciples were human just like you and I are human. Who doesn't want to stand out? Some of the greatest people who have ever lived were also among the most ambitious.

It is said that Michelangelo prayed: "Lord, grant that I may always desire more than I can accomplish."

Abraham Lincoln often said to himself as a boy studying by the pine log fire at night: "I will study and get ready and perhaps my chance will come." And, indeed, it did come.

Having an African-American president reminds us of other people of color who have succeeded against even greater odds. They, too, were driven to succeed.

Who can help but be impressed by the accomplishments, for example, of George Washington Carver? Carver was born to an African slave mother. He never knew his father. But he wanted to make a difference in the world, and he did! Carver became one the greatest scientists in American history.

The disciples were human beings. They wanted their names to be in lights just as you and I want to stand out from our peers. There is nothing wrong with that as long it does not cause us to mistreat others or betray our values. My guess is Jesus wanted them to be ambitious because ambitious people get things done. He just wanted them to be ambitious in the right way.

A group of European theologians once visited Mother Teresa in Calcutta. She said to them, "You try to do what I am doing, then you will be able to enjoy what I am doing." She took them to one of her childcare centers and picked up a child who was playing in the mud and gave the child a kiss. She waited for her guests to do the same. None of them did.

John Killinger, in a sermon entitled, The Great Importance of Little Deeds, concluded by saying, "It's an exciting thought that when we die and come into the presence of God and all its fullness, it will not be our major achievements that speak for us, 'He was president of a bank. She was the first woman senator from her state. He was the author of 22 books,' but rather the small apparently inconsequential things that we long ago forgot. 'He mowed my lawn when I was sick. She cared for my child when I went to the market. He sent me flowers when I needed them most. She washed and mended my socks.' These are the little things that hold the world together. They are the small stones that comprise the great cathedrals where God is worshipped. They shall be remembered," says Killinger, "like stars in the crown of the saints."

The world desperately needs to see our love in action. Of what value is our faith if our love isn't stronger: our love for one another and our love for the world? Our love needs to be big enough to take in the whole world.

Rev. John R. Ramsey tells how in one church a certain person provided him with a rose boutonniere for the lapel of his suit every Sunday. At first he really appreciated it but then it sort of became routine. Then one Sunday it became very special.

As he was leaving the Sunday Service a young boy walked up to him and said, "Sir, what are you going to do with your flower?" At first the preacher didn't know what the boy was talking about. When it sank in, he pointed to the rose on his lapel and asked the boy, "Do you mean this?"

The boy said, "Yes, sir. If you're just going to throw it away, I would like it."

The preacher smiled and told him he could have the flower and then casually asked what he was going to do with it. The boy, who was probably no more than 10 years old, looked up at the preacher and said, "Sir, I'm going to give it to my granny. My mother and father divorced last year. I was living with my mother, but she married again, and wanted me to live with my father. I lived with him for a while, but he said I couldn't stay, so he sent me to live with my grandmother. She is so good to me. She cooks for me and takes care of me. She has been so good to me that I wanted to give her that pretty flower for loving me."

When the little boy finished, the preacher could hardly speak. His eyes filled with tears and he knew he had been touched by God. He reached up and unpinned the rose. With the flower in his hand, he looked at the boy and said, "Son, that is the nicest thing that I've ever heard but you can't have this flower because it's not enough. If you'll look in front of the pulpit, you'll see a big bouquet of flowers. Different families buy them for the Church each week. Please take those flowers to your granny because she deserves the very best."

Then the boy made one last statement which Rev. Ramsey said he will always treasure. The boy said, "What a wonderful day! I asked for one flower but got a beautiful bunch of flowers."

That's the thankful spirit. That's the gratitude attitude. And it's that attitude that should guide our giving and our lives. Like that boy's granny, God has blessed us so much. God has been so good to us that giving shouldn't even be a question. It should just flow from us naturally.

Since my name begins with "W" I know what it means to be at the end of the line. All through school I was either near or at the end, always with the Youngs and the Zimmermans. At every graduation I was in the last group to cross the stage and receive my diploma. In the classroom I always sat in the last row near the back of the room. I never knew what it meant to be first until I became a pastor. Now, I am always permitted to eat first at potluck dinners.

I must confess it's rather nice to be the first one to go through the line. You get to choose from all the best dishes and you have first choice on dessert. I wonder sometimes if I would have a different outlook on life if my name began with an "A."

We live in a society where being "first" means everything. Everyone wants to be number one or be part of a group that is number one. Competition is the name of the game. Our motto is "win, win, win, me, me, me." To find ourselves at the end of the line in anything is absolutely tragic. None of us wants to come in last. No one wants to wait.

Then, along comes Jesus. He totally ruins our winning formula by saying the phrase, "For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it." What? Lose instead of win? This does not compute. This is illogical. This is now how we were conditioned to believe. Surely this must be a mistake.

Jesus, however promotes an ethic of "end of the lineness." Not only are we to lose to win, we are to "deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow him." For Jesus it's even worse. He is to suffer, be rejected, and killed by a hostile world.

A hundred feet above the Apurimac River, near the remote village of Huinchiri, Peru there is a suspension bridge that connects the Limi-Cuzzo Road. It has been there since the 14th century. Using four miles of braided coya grass, the Inca constructed the bridge in phases. First a bowman attached a fine thread to an arrow and fired it across the gorge. A man on the other side tied a cord to the thread and fired it back across the gorge. The cord was then pulled across. One by one the Inca added thicker and thicker ropes, finally hauling into place a 200 pound floor cable that was created off site.

Made of grass, this is the last remaining Inca rope bridge. It is reconstructed every June and continues to serve as access accross the gorge. It began with a single thread. Think how many changes take place in life because of a single phonecall, the implementation of one idea, one visit, or a single letter. All great bridges stem from tiny beginnings.

It is the same for our faith. A single act of forgiveness, a personal commitment to be more involved in the life of the church, a gift or an invitation to a stranger. Major construction is overwhelming. But every change that is made for the betterment of humankind starts with a single act.

Isn't that what God did with the birth of Christ? God introduced the possibility of total transformation with the gift of a child in a manger. In a remote place of the world and through a humble peasant couple, God set the stage for a new kingdom to emerge.

Note: for more see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inca_rope_bridge

In his book, Disappointment with God, writer Philip Yancey relates a touching story from his own life. One time on a visit to his mother--who had been widowed years earlier, in the month of Philip's first birthday--they spent the afternoon together looking through a box of old photos. A certain picture of him as an eight-month-old baby caught his eye. Tattered and bent, it looked too banged up to be worth keeping, so he asked her why, with so many other better pictures of him at the same age, she had kept this one.

Yancey writes, "My mother explained to me that she had kept the photo as a memento, because during my father's illness it had been fastened to his iron lung." During the last four months of his life, Yancey's father lay on his back, completely paralyzed by polio at the age of twenty-four, encased from the neck down in a huge, cylindrical breathing unit. With his two young sons banned from the hospital due to the severity of his illness, he had asked his wife for pictures of her and their two boys. Because he was unable to move even his head, the photos had to be jammed between metal knobs so that they hung within view above him--the only thing he could see. The last four months of his life were spent looking at the faces he loved.

Philip Yancey writes, "I have often thought of that crumpled photo, for it is one of the few links connecting me to the stranger who was my father. Someone I have no memory of, no sensory knowledge of, spent all day, every day thinking of me, devoting himself to me, loving me . . . The emotions I felt when my mother showed me the crumpled photo were the very same emotions I felt that February night in a college dorm room when I first believed in a God of love. Someone is there, I realized. Someone is there who loves me. It was a startling feeling of wild hope, a feeling so new and overwhelming that it seemed fully worth risking my life on."

This parable goes against the business mentality that dominates our lives. We have always been taught: You get out of something directly in proportion to that which you put in it. Yet, that is not what happened in Jesus' story. In our way of thinking, the laborers who came to the field late got something for nothing. This parable challenges us not to look upon the Kingdom of God, or the church, as a business community. Yet, that is difficult for us to do, because that is our point of reference. What do you think would happen if a person joined the church this morning and immediately after receiving the vows of profession of faith I suggested to the congregation that he or she be nominated as the next chairperson of the Administrative Board. What do you think the reaction would be? Well, I think I know what the reaction would be. The laity would protest as loudly as Simon Peter is protesting to Jesus.

You see, we live in a world of tenure and seniority and it goes against our grain when we hear Jesus say: The first shall be last and the last shall be first. God's grace is not based upon what is fair, but rather what helps.

Years ago, when the Betty Crocker Company first began selling their cake mixes, they offered a product which only needed water. All you had to do was add water to the mix which came in the box, and you would get a perfect, delicious cake every time.

It bombed. No one bought it and the company couldn't understand why, so they commissioned a study which brought back a surprising answer. It seemed that people weren't buying the cake mix because it was too easy. They didn't want to be totally excluded from the work of preparing a cake; they wanted to feel that they were contributing something to it. So, Betty Crocker changed the formula and required the customer to add an egg in addition to water. Immediately, the new cake mix was a huge success. Unfortunately, many people make the same mistake when it comes to "packaging" or presenting the Christian religion. They try to make the call of Jesus Christ as easy as possible because they're afraid people won't "buy it" if it seems too hard.

Jesus said, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies it bears much fruit. Jesus then explained what he meant. He said, "The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it." It's true in life isn't it? If we are going to get anything out of it we have to invest ourselves in it. Do you remember the second to last album by the Beatles? It was called  "Abbey Road" and for my money it was their best. The last song is a little musical reprise called "The End."  It's the last lyrical statement the Beatles make on the album. And it went, "And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make."

The truth of this is written in creation. It is evident for everyone to see. It even is found in something as small as grain of wheat, a seed. Jesus said,

1. First, when a grain of wheat falls it dies.
2. Second, when a grain of wheat falls it bears much fruit.
3. Finally, Christ is the grain of wheat that dies and bears much fruit.

Do you feel as if you're a million years behind in one or more of your classes? Do you have trouble recalling anything when you hear the word "test"? You might do better if you tried a few simple learning techniques. When you study, what position are you in? Research shows lying down is the poorest position for learning. Sitting up is much better. Standing while learning is better still. And walking while learning is best of all, provided you're in familiar territory and don't stumble over anything. And if you are firmly gripping something while in any of these positions, they you increase the level of learning for that position. So the best position would be to walk while gripping your book. Another tip is to study in the place where you will have to recall the material. Studies show that environmental cues help trigger our memories.

It's so important, whenever possible, to sleep following your study. Unless you are very fatigued, you'll find it best to study at night and review in the morning. Sleep improves retention greatly because the brain has time to consolidate the material without added interference. So if you are studying for a lot of tests, it would be good for you to take a nap several times a day.

When you're studying a series of subjects, one right after another, make sure the subjects are dissimilar. If you finish studying Spanish, don't switch right to English. Students who have recall problems on tests should check their diets it's recommended they cut out all sugar and make sure they're getting enough vitamins. You won't believe the difference it makes in your grades.

We have two memory processes in our brain. Our short-term memory is designed to handle details we need for a brief time, but don't want to clutter our minds with forever. Facts we want to remember indefinitely are processed in the area of the brain set aside for long-term memory. To send material to the long-term segment of the brain, repetition and drill are very important. If you review any given bit of information for as long as 60 minutes, even over the course of a few days, that material will register almost indefinitely.

If you had two hours to spend in studying a subject, should you do it in one sitting or should you break up the time into 10-, 15- or 20-minute segments? Breaking up the time will improve your learning efficiency.

There are a couple of additional tips that may help you. First, in serial learning, where you have a long list or a whole chapter to master, the first part will be easiest to remember and the last is the next easiest. So if you want to remember everything equally well, spend a little extra time on the part just past the middle. The last little trick involves "chunking." The average brain has the capacity for holding seven bits of information at any given instant for immediate recall. Knowing this fact, you can make things easier by dividing up a chapter into five parts and then divide each of those parts into five, and so on. You should be able to amass a greater amount of material in a far shorter time and be able to recall it.

Some years ago a book was written by a noted American historian entitled “When The Cheering Stopped.” It was the story of President Woodrow Wilson and the events leading up to and following WWI. When that war was over Wilson was an international hero, There was a great spirit of optimism abroad, and people actually believed that the last war had been fought and the world had been made safe for democracy.

On his first visit to Paris after the war Wilson was greeted by cheering mobs. He was actually more popular than their own heroes. The same thing was true in England and Italy. In a Vienna hospital a Red Cross worker had to tell the children that there would be no Christmas presents because of the war and the hard times. The children didn’t believe her. They said that President Wilson was coming and they knew that everything would be alright.

The cheering lasted about a year. Then it gradually began to stop. It turned out that after the war the political leaders in Europe were more concerned with their own agendas than they were a lasting peace. At home Woodrow Wilson ran into opposition in the United States Senate and his League of Nations was not ratified. Under the strain of it all the President’s health began to break. He suffered a stroke and in the next election his party was defeated. So it was that Woodrow Wilson, a man who barely a year earlier had been heralded as the new world Messiah, came to the end of his days a broken and defeated man.

It’s a sad story, but one that is not altogether unfamiliar. The ultimate reward for someone who tries to translate ideals into reality is apt to be frustration and defeat. There are some exceptions, of course, but not too many.

It happened that way to Jesus. When he emerged on the public scene he was an overnight sensation. He would try to go off to be alone and the people would still follow him. The masses lined the streets as he came into town. On Palm Sunday leafy palm branches were spread before him and there were shouts of Hosanna. In shouting Hosanna they were in effect saying “Save us now” Jesus. Great crowds came to hear him preach. A wave of religious expectation swept the country.

But the cheering did not last for long. There came a point when the tide began to turn against him. Oh, you didn’t notice it so much at first. People still came to see him, but the old excitement was missing, and the crowds were not as large as they had been. His critics now began to publicly attack him. That was something new. Earlier they had been afraid to speak out for fear of the masses, but they began to perceive that the fickle public was turning on him. Soon the opposition began to snowball. When they discovered that they could not discredit his moral character, they began to take more desperate measures. Before it was all over a tidal wave welled up that brought Jesus to his knees under the weight of a cross.

Why did the masses so radically turn against him? How did the shouts of Hosanna on Sunday transform into the shouts of crucify him on Friday? I am not just talking about the immediate events that may have brought it about, but the deeper root causes. What were the underlying issues? In five days it all fell apart. Why? That is the issue that I would like for us to concentrate on this morning. Why did the cheering stop?

1. Jesus Began to talk more and more about commitment.
2. Jesus dared to suggest that all people are worth loving.
3. Jesus began to talk more and more about a cross.

The kingdom of heaven is like a professor who had many papers to grade. She asked her teaching assistants to start helping her early in the morning, and agreed to take them all out to dinner when the grading was finished. About mid-morning she realized she would need more help, so when she saw other graduate students standing in the hallway doing nothing, she asked them to help her, and agreed to reward them appropriately. Again at noon she found other graduate students eating lunch, and got them to help her, and again at mid-afternoon. About 5 p.m. she found still others and asked, "Why are you standing around doing nothing? Come and help me grade my papers. "When they were finished grading, the professor took them all to a restaurant. When she paid for the dinners of those who had started work at 5 o'clock, those who started early in the morning expected to receive more. But when she only paid for their dinner too, they began to grumble, "These others who only worked one hour got just as much as we did, who slaved all day over those papers." But the professor answered, "I am not being unfair to you. You got what we agreed upon. I want to give the students who only graded one hour as much as I gave you. Don't I have that right? Or are you envious because I am generous?"

So the last will be first and the first will be last. (Matthew 20:1-16)

The story is told about a fellow who loved to read mystery stories but he didn't like to be kept in suspense. He would read the last chapter first. That way he could read the book in the assurance that in the end good would triumph over evil. To the villain he would silently announce, "Don't get too sure of yourself. I already know the ending of the story. You'll get yours later."

The Christmas story allows us to see the last chapter first. The babe in the manger is God's announcement to our universe that he is at work reconciling the world unto himself. The angels could sing about "Peace on earth, good will to men" not because it had been realized in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago or even in our city today. In the mind of God, however, it is this moment already a present reality. The future belongs to Him. This moment is God's moment. He is alive. He is here now. Time is important. Time is in short supply. Yet his love and His nurture are timeless.

At a dinner party, people were talking about people in their lives who had meant much to them.  The famous preacher, William Stidger, told the story of a Mrs. Wendt, an old school teacher who 30 years before had gone out of her way to introduce him to Tennyson.  One of the dinner party members asked Stidger, "Does Mrs. Wendt know that she made such a contribution to your life?"

That caught William Stidger -- he became troubled that he had never bothered to say thanks.  That evening, before he went to bed, he wrote a letter to Mrs. Wendt even though he didn't know if she was still alive or where she lived.

His letter was eventually forwarded from town to town, and it finally reached Mrs. Wendt.  The feeble hand of Mrs. Wendt wrote this in reply: 

"My dear Willie, I can't tell you how much our note meant to me.  I'm in my 80's, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and like the last leaf of fall, lingering behind.  You will be interested to know that I taught school for 50 years, and yours is the first note of appreciation I ever received.  It came on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered me as nothing has in many years.”

Is there someone you need to speak a grateful word to?  Do it now.

Shortly after the turn of the century, Japan invaded, conquered, and occupied Korea. Of all of their oppressors, Japan was the most ruthless. They overwhelmed the Koreans with a brutality that would sicken the strongest of stomachs. Their crimes against women and children were inhuman. Many Koreans live today with the physical and emotional scars from the Japanese occupation.

One group singled out for concentrated oppression was the Christians. When the Japanese army overpowered Korea one of the first things they did was board up the evangelical churches and eject most foreign missionaries. It has always fascinated me how people fail to learn from history. Conquering nations have consistently felt that shutting up churches would shut down Christianity. It didn't work in Rome when the church was established, and it hasn't worked since. Yet somehow the Japanese thought they would have a different success record.

The conquerors started by refusing to allow churches to meet and jailing many of the key Christian spokesmen. The oppression intensified as the Japanese military increased its profile in the South Pacific. The "Land of the Rising Sum" spread its influence through a reign of savage brutality. Anguish filled the hearts of the oppressed and kindled hatred deep in their souls.

One pastor persistently entreated his local Japanese police chief for permission to meet for services. His nagging was finally accommodated, and the police chief offered to unlock his church ... for one meeting. It didn't take long for word to travel. Committed Christians starving for an opportunity for unhindered worship quickly made their plans. Long before dawn on that promised Sunday, Korean families throughout a wide area made their way to the church. They passed the staring eyes of their Japanese captors, but nothing was going to steal their joy. As they closed the doors behind them they shut out the cares of oppression and shut in a burning spirit anxious to glorify their Lord.

The Korean church has always had a reputation as a singing church. Their voices of praise could not be concealed inside the little wooden frame sanctuary. Song after song rang through the open windows into the bright Sunday morning. For a handful of peasants listening nearby, the last two songs this congregation sang seemed suspended in time. It was during a stanza of "Nearer My God to Thee" that the Japanese police chief waiting outside gave the orders. The people toward the back of the church could hear them when they barricaded the doors, but no one realized that they had doused the church with kerosene until they smelled the smoke. The dried wooden skin of the small church quickly ignited. Fumes filled the structure as tongues of flame began to lick the baseboard on the interior walls. There was an immediate rush for the windows. But momentary hope recoiled in horror as the men climbing out the windows came crashing back in their bodies ripped by a hail of bullets.

The good pastor knew it was the end. With a calm that comes from confidence, he led his congregation in a hymn whose words served as a fitting farewell to earth and a loving salutation to heaven. The first few words were all the prompting the terrified worshipers needed. With smoke burning their eyes, they instantly joined as one to sing their hope and leave their legacy. Their song became a serenade to the horrified and helpless witnesses outside. Their words also tugged at the hearts of the cruel men who oversaw this flaming execution of the innocent.

Alas! and did my Savior bleed?
and did my Sovereign die?
Would he devote that sacred head
for such a worm as I?
Just before the roof collapsed they sang the last verse,
their words an eternal testimony to their faith.
But drops of grief can ne'er repay
the debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away
'Tis all that I can do!
At the cross, at the cross
Where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away
It was there by faith I received my sight,
And now I am happy all the day.

The strains of music and wails of children were lost in a roar of flames. The elements that once formed bone and flesh mixed with the smoke and dissipated into the air. The bodies that once housed life fused with the charred rubble of a building that once housed a church. But the souls who left singing finished their chorus in the throne room of God. Clearing the incinerated remains was the easy part. Erasing the hate would take decades. For some of the relatives of the victims, this carnage was too much. Evil had stooped to a new low, and there seemed to be no way to curb their bitter loathing of the Japanese.

In the decades that followed, that bitterness was passed on to a new generation. The Japanese, although conquered, remained a hated enemy. The monument the Koreans built at the location of the fire not only memorialized the people who died, but stood as a mute reminder of their pain.

Inner rest? How could rest coexist with a bitterness deep as marrow in the bones? Suffering, of course, is a part of life. People hurt people. Almost all of us have experienced it at some time. Maybe you felt it when you came home to find that your spouse had abandoned you, or when your integrity was destroyed by a series of well-timed lies, or when your company was bled dry by a partner. It kills you inside. Bitterness clamps down on your soul like iron shackles.

The Korean people who found it too hard to forgive could not enjoy the "peace that passes all understanding." Hatred choked their joy.

It wasn't until 1972 that any hope came. A group of Japanese pastors traveling through Korea came upon the memorial. When they read the details of the tragedy and the names of the spiritual brothers and sisters who had perished, they were overcome with shame. Their country had sinned, and even though none of them were personally involved (some were not even born at the time of the tragedy), they still felt a national guilt that could not be excused. They returned to Japan committed to right a wrong. There was an immediate outpouring of love from their fellow believers. They raised ten million yen ($25,000). The money was transferred through proper channels and a beautiful white church building was erected on the sight of the tragedy. When the dedication service for the new building was held, a delegation from Japan joined the relatives and special guests.

Although their generosity was acknowledged and their attempts at making peace appreciated, the memories were still there. Hatred preserves pain. It keeps the wounds open and the hurts fresh. The Koreans' bitterness had festered for decades. Christian brothers or not, these Japanese were descendants of a ruthless enemy. The speeches were made, the details of the tragedy recalled, and the names of the dead honored. It was time to bring the service to a close. Someone in charge of the agenda thought it would be appropriate to conclude with the same two songs that were sung the day the church was burned.  The song leader began the words to "Nearer My God to Thee."

But something remarkable happened as the voices mingled on the familiar melody. As the memories of the past mixed with the truth of the song, resistance started to melt. The inspiration that gave hope to a doomed collection of churchgoers in a past generation gave hope once more. The song leader closed the service with the hymn "At the Cross." The normally stoic Japanese could not contain themselves. The tears that began to fill their eyes during the song suddenly gushed from deep inside. They turned to their Korean spiritual relatives and begged them to forgive. The guarded, calloused hearts of the Koreans were not quick to surrender. But the love of the Japanese believers not intimidated by decades of hatred tore at the Koreans' emotions.

At the cross, at the cross
Where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away ...

One Korean turned toward a Japanese brother. Then another. And then the floodgates holding back a wave of emotion let go. The Koreans met their new Japanese friends in the middle. They clung to each other and wept. Japanese tears of repentance and Korean tears of forgiveness intermingled to bathe the site of an old nightmare. Heaven had sent the gift of reconciliation to a little white church in Korea.

A golfer who had been playing badly went to a psychiatrist who told him to relax by playing a round of golf without a ball. "Do everything you would normally do, but use an imaginary ball," advised the psychiatrist." The golfer tried it the next day. He stepped up on the first tee, imagined he got a 260-yard drive, made a fine approach shot to the green, then putted for a par.

The round went splendidly and as he approached the 18th hole, he met another golfer playing the same way no ball. The other golfer had seen the same psychiatrist. They decided to play the last hole together and bet $10 on the outcome. The first golfer swung at his imaginary ball and announced that it had gone 280 yards right down the middle of the fairway. The second golfer matched his drive. The first fellow then took out his 5-iron and after swinging at his imaginary ball, he exclaimed, "Look at that shot! It went right over the pin and the reverse spin on it brought it right back into the hole! I win." "No you don't," said the second golfer. "You hit my ball."

At long last, Laura McDermott had fulfilled her lifelong dream. All she could ever think of doing with her life since she was a kid was to be a doctor. Now no one in the McDermott family had ever been to college before, let alone medical school. Her parents, therefore, were constantly reminding her of the obstacles in her path. "Are you sure you know what you are getting into?" her parents would quiz her periodically. Laura's friends pointed to other obstacles. "Are you sure you want to put yourself through that much schooling? It's really hard work. Is it worth it?"

Laura McDermott persisted. She got through college and medical school. Laura McDermott was a doctor at last. She had lived her dream. But the dream soon turned into a nightmare. Dr. McDermott was hired to work with a group of physicians. That's exactly as she had imagined it. She would be one of two general practitioners in a group which included many specialists as well. An ideal work environment she thought. And it started out well. Soon enough, however, problems began to emerge.

The first problem that faced Dr. McDermott was that she was one of only two women doctors on the clinic staff. The other G.P. was a man with a few years' experience. It became clear to her quite soon that he was getting far more referrals than she was from the other physicians at the clinic. What was even worse, however, was that when she referred patients to some of the specialists they would quite often check out her referral with the other G.P. Her peers clearly did not trust her judgment.

Laura did not know what to make of this situation. Was it because she was young that this happened or because she was a woman? She tried to find out. She asked hard questions around the clinic. But she got no straight answers. It was like a conspiracy of silence had formed around her. Dr. McDermott was devastated.

The other problem was that she just didn't like some of the doctors with whom she worked. They were just not nice people she thought. Friction was in the air at the clinic all the time because of the personalities that worked there. It was not a good work atmosphere. She hated to go to work each day. The whole situation was just awful.

The situation got so bad, in fact, that Dr. McDermott just had to talk to somebody about it. At her church she had met and made friends with another woman about her age, Doris Pagel, who worked for the local chamber of commerce. Laura thought that Doris might have some insights for her about the kind of people that made up their town. Maybe she had the situation figured out all wrong. She hoped Doris could help.

Dr. McDermott took Doris Pagel out for dinner one night and told her sad tale. Doris' first reaction caught Laura by surprise. "Nobody ever said being a doctor would be easy," she said. Laura assured Doris that she knew that. It's just that so many other things had entered the picture that surprised her with the reality of just how hard it was for her to serve God by living out her vocation as a doctor.

"Well you know," said Doris, "I read somewhere that we don't choose our own crosses. God just lays crosses upon us in the midst of our attempts to serve. Through our struggles God is often at work molding us into the kind of person God wants us to be.""

What is the first thing that comes to mind when you hear this Gospel? Do you wonder if you are one of the rich people whose wealth will make it next to impossible to get into heaven? Have you ever heard this Gospel used in stewardship campaigns in which the prescribed fix or remedy for wealth is to give it to the church, ensuring that God would look favorably on you? Does this sound familiar? 

As far back as the early Church, there have been suggestions that good graces and favor with God are obtained by sharing our wealth with the church. The burden of wealth is lifted, paving the way to heaven by the simple transfer of money or possessions. In fact, there was a time when it wasn't even a suggestion – you could purchase the indulgences you needed. If you were wealthy, you were blessed in many ways. If you were poor, you were out of luck. It is no wonder that people living on the margins may hear hope in the words "many who are first will be last, and the last will be first." It suggests a certain promise of justice.

The Board of Bethlehem Community Church gathered for its monthly meeting with solemn resolve. They were the largest, most prestigious congregation in their region, and with that honor came some serious responsibility. Every other year they hosted the Bishop's Winter Renewal Retreat for forty to fifty area pastors. Bethlehem Church's beautiful facility provided meeting rooms and meals for the specially invited clergy and guest speakers. The details were always impeccably managed. Each retreat closed with the Bishop preaching the Sunday morning sermon for the guests and congregation. Participants left feeling pampered and refreshed.

But this year the Board faced a potentially embarrassing dilemma. In the two years since the last retreat, Mae Ella Grant had joined the church.

Now, Bethlehem Community Church was known for its classic, high-church liturgy. The pastor's preaching style tended to attract the intellectual, professional members of the community. The organist and music director had both taught music at a local private college for years. They had attracted many professional singers and musicians to the sixty-voice choir and chamber orchestra. Mae Ella Grant's first visit to the church had been at Easter the previous year. After the choir's beautiful presentation of Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus," she had spontaneously cried out, "Praise the Lord!" Imagine the congregation's shock!

Most everyone had politely ignored that first, indelicate outburst. But the Grant family returned to worship. During each service she attended, Mae Ella managed to lose control of at least one "Amen!" or "Halleluia!" or "Praise the Lord!" The difficulty was that she was a perfectly charming person in every other way. When her family joined the church, she took an immediate role in Sunday School, the Social Concerns Committee and the Women's Service Society. She volunteered tirelessly to serve at dinners, help put out mailings, and work at the mealsite for the homeless. Everyone came to know and like her. Many tried, directly or indirectly, in gentle and not-so-gentle ways, to tell her how disturbing her outbursts were to the rest of the congregation. Mae Ella would blush and shake her red curls and apologize. But, with a sparkle in her eyes, she would say that, sometimes, there was no controlling the Holy Spirit!

Well, even the most conservative worshipers became accustomed to the outbursts after a year and a half. They could tolerate some spontaneity, especially when they knew Mae Ella was trying to conform. But what would the Bishop and visiting pastors think? The board was solemn, indeed, as they made their preparations.

Another Bishop's Winter Retreat was carried out as impeccably as always after the beginning of the New Year. With tastefully-chosen Christmas decorations still in place, awaiting the arrival of the magi, forty-five pastors were enveloped in the hospitality of Bethlehem Church. Mae Ella Grant was one of the hardest working volunteers that entire weekend. And on Sunday morning she and her husband, a psychology professor at the University, and their three curly-haired children were in their usual places to hear the Bishop speak. Mae Ella, having been cautioned by her many friends to control herself, was on her best behavior.

The choir's moving rendition of "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" nearly did her in. Mae Ella sat on her hands and bit her lip when they were finished. Then one of the guest speakers from the retreat rose to read the Psalm, and his words and the strength of his southern drawl were a balm on Mae Ella's soul. He read:

Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights! Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his host! Praise him, sun and moon; praise him, all you shining stars! ... Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the earth! Young men and women alike, old and young together! Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted; his glory is above earth and heaven ... Praise the Lord! (verses 1-3, 11-13, 14b)

The echo of his last words had not finished ringing through the carved oak rafters before Mae Ella's hands clapped before her and she shouted in return, "Oh, praise the Lord!"

Just as abruptly as it began, her applause stopped as Mae Ella's hands clapped over her mouth. She sank back in the pew in horror of what she had done. But her husband tapped her shoulder and pointed to the Bishop, who now stood in the pulpit beaming a warm smile in her direction.

"Thank you so much for that testimony to the glory of God," the Bishop said directly to Mae Ella. And as the crimson color began to recede slowly from her face, she listened in awe. The Bishop proceeded to preach an inspiring sermon on the importance of spontaneous praise in worship. In it he endorsed the expression of such praise as a regular part of the worship experience. When he came to the conclusion, the Bishop smiled impishly in Mae Ella's direction and said, "Will you all say 'Amen'?" Mae Ella's lilting voice led the staid congregation in a surprisingly strong Amen!

Some years ago a young man approached the foreman of a logging crew and asked for a job. "That depends," replied the foreman. "Let's see you fell this tree." The young man stepped forward and skillfully felled a great tree. Impressed, the foreman exclaimed, "Start Monday!"

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday rolled by, and Thursday afternoon the foreman approached the young man and said, "You can pick up your paycheck on the way out today."

Startled, he replied, "I thought you paid on Friday."

"Normally we do," answered the foreman, "but we're letting you go today because you've fallen behind. Our daily felling charts show that you've dropped from first place on Monday to last on Wednesday."

"But I'm a hard worker," the young man objected. "I arrive first, leave last, and even have worked through my coffee breaks!"

The foreman, sensing the boy's integrity, thought for a minute and then asked, "Have you been sharpening your ax?" The young man replied, "I've been working too hard to take the time."

There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her fifth grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise. Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners...he is a joy to be around." His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle." His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken." Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed, how pretty the bracelet was. She put it on and dabbed some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my mom used to." After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children.

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her pets. A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life. Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he'd met a girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.

Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together. They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference." Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

Two passages by C. S. Lewis illustrate the author’s esxperience with God’s grace:

You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelented approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929, I gave in and admitted that God was God and knelt and prayed: perhaps that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England. I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing, the Divine humility which will accept a convert on even such terms. The prodigal son at least walked home on his own feet. But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape? The words “compelle intrare,” compel them to come in, have been so abused by wicked men that we shudder at them; but, properly understood, they plumb the depth of the Divine mercy. The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation. [C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy (San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1956), p. 228; Magdalen is one of the colleges of Cambridge University.]

I never had the experience of looking for God. It was the other way round: He was the hunter (or so it seemed to me) and I was the deer. He stalked me like a redskin, took unerring aim, and fired. And I am very thankful that this is how the first (conscious) meeting occurred. It forearms one against subsequent fears that the whole thing was only wish fulfillment. Something one didn’t wish for can hardly be that. [C. S. Lewis, Christian Reflections (San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1956), p. 169.]

I was a shepherd on that star-filled night
In Bethlehem. I thought of long ago ...
I thought of brave Naomi taking flight
From Moab's land, of Ruth who chose to know

A stranger's lot—a royal daughter, she.
"Entreat me not to leave thee," she had said,
"Thy people shall be mine—so let it be."
Humbly she gleaned the fields, and there she wed

Boaz, and there she bore him a son.
And from this line came David. In these hills
He roamed and played, and fought at last and won.
Ah, memories-my heart with rapture fills

For here of David's family Christ was born
And alleluias rang from night till morn!

Yes, I, a shepherd on that holy night
In Bethlehem, saw the bright, whirling star
Shatter the darkness like a shaft of light,
Shedding great gleams of glory from afar.

With fright, yet filled with dreams, I heard the song
"Come, find the Child." Joy overflowed the brim
Until I found I could not go along.
I sent instead a lamb to welcome Him.

Though mine shall be a humble walk for long,
I shall not sorrow, for I saw the Light,
And I shall hear the glory of the song-
My days shall always mark that one great height.

They told me that the blessed mother smiled,
And that she placed my lamb beside the Child.
Ah, Bethlehem, my home, my house of bread,
Here let my body and my soul be fed!

Ever since Alex Haley’s novel, Roots, hit the bookstands in the mid-70s, there has been an increasing number of people interested in their heritage. Many people buy computers and get on the internet primarily to keep track of their family tree.

Parish secretaries are often called upon to do research for people investigating their family heritage. It is clear that many persons have been motivated to search through history in an attempt to find their roots. As one newspaper columnist wrote, "The once fabled rootless Americans are realizing that the people who formed the foundations of their heritage are important. And more than that, they are enjoying their quest, for there is satisfaction and security in finding one’s roots."

Finding our roots, unveiling the people of our past, is a process that helps us discover who we are by looking at where we came from. But it’s only the beginning. Even more telling is the question of where we have set our roots for daily life. What motivates our day-to-day existence? Or I could put the question to you in this way, "What’s the biggest thing in your life?" What’s most important to you?

Some might answer, "My home and family, everything revolves around them." Or someone else, "My country, first, last and always." Some might even say, "My work, my work means everything to me; without that, I’d be lost." Others might answer, "My youth. The important thing in my life right now is the fact that I’m young." Many would simply reply, "Health and happiness." Don’t we say, "If you’ve got your health, you’ve got just about everything?" And we all want to be happy.

These are certainly important facts of life, the foliage which enhances our daily living. Then we must ask, "What if these things go?" What happens when your home, your family is crushed by news of a fatal illness or shattered by the death of a loved one? What if you lose your job? Or if your income no longer pays the bills? What if you wake up one day and realize that you’re not just getting older but that you’re getting old!" For our youth goes, too. The springtime of life so quickly turns to autumn, and then to winter.

In a society that idolizes youth, it’s tough to accept the fact that our youth is literally wasting away.

Health and happiness? There may be some people in church this morning whose health is gone; it may never come back. Perhaps some of you are worshiping today because you are looking for healing, or your burden is too heavy to bear alone so you have come looking for a word of encouragement. For others, an increasing number of problems have cast a pall over your life, and you wish that someone would listen to you and try to understand. You are not very happy and you’re not so sure you ever will be again. Life is so uncertain.

In his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, Dr. Victor Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist, tells how he survived three unimaginably grim years in Nazi concentration camps. His wife, his brother, his mother and father, all were killed in similar camps. He, himself, was stripped of all his possessions, all his clothing, his watch, his rings, even his glasses. Then they shaved all the hair off his body and he was utterly naked. Now, you see, the question he had to face was, "Does my life have meaning now?" Family gone; all possessions gone; position in the community, gone; all dignity, gone; possession only what he called, "My ridiculously naked life." Now does my being have roots? Is there any reason to continue living?

One of my favorite people was Walt Disney. He left a rich legacy to the world. But when he first started out, Disney couldn’t sell his cartoons in Kansas City, was told by many he had no talent. But he had a dream he believed in and, more importantly, he believed in himself. At long last, he found a minister who agreed, for small pay, to let him draw pictures for church events. Disney had no place to stay and the same church offered their garage for his abode. The garage was infested with mice, Disney began drawing one of those mice, and the rest is history. I wonder what those Kansas City people who turned him down say now about the ambition of Walt Disney?

Now I would like to stop the world for just one minute and ask you to think back. Think back with me to the first century. Think about those 50 years after Jesus' death and what it must been like for Jesus' disciples. Before the last one died their efforts had brought 500,000 men, women, and children into the ranks of the church. But what they had to suffer in order to accomplish this task is seldom discussed. We like the outcome of their discipleship but we don't want to hear the cost of discipleship. So for the record here is the cost: History tells us...

1. John died of extreme old age exiled to the island of Patmos.
2. Judas Iscariot, after betraying his Lord, hanged himself.
3. Peter was crucified; head downward, during the persecution of Nero.
4. Andrew died on a cross at Patrae, a Grecian Colony.
5. James, the younger, son of Alphaeus, was thrown from a pinnacle of the Temple, and then beaten to death with a club.
6. Bartholomew was flayed alive in Albanapolis, Armenia.
7. James, the elder son of Zebedee, was beheaded at Jerusalem.
8. Thomas, the doubter, was run through the body with a lance at Coromandel, in the East Indies.
9. Philip was hanged against a pillar at Heropolis.
10. Thaddeus was shot to death with arrows.
11. Simon died on a cross in Persia (what we now call Iran.)
12. Matthew was first stoned and then beheaded.

What sacrifices! And I ask you why? Why did they choose to die this way? Why desert your father and mother, your wife and child, and your home? Why put up with the constant humiliation, and hunger, and persecution, and defeat town after town after town?

I'll tell you why, because, in the words of Apostle Paul, they were held captive by the words and teachings of Jesus Christ. It is Paul's way of saying they were slaves to Christ.

It is quite likely we shall never be tested to the extent that the disciples were but there are some ways to gauge our commitment. Let's look at a couple this morning...

1.  Sacrifice is a sign of mature commitment.
2.  Hospitality is a sign of discipleship.
3.  A cup of water is a sign that Christ is welcome.

There is a legend about a simple man who was lifted from the gutter and magically granted three wishes. First he wished for material goods and forth with became very rich. Then he wished for understanding and soon became very wise. At last he used his third wish to express his desire to become as God, and immediately he found himself back in the gutter.

So it was with the wicked tenants. Dissatisfied with their role as stewards and not owners, they eventually lost the very vineyard which supported them. The tenants of the vineyard are most to be pitied. We can only hope and pray for the innocents who always suffer in their self-destruction.

A cartoon in the New Yorker magazine says it all. In the middle of the floor is a dried up, withered, Christmas tree. The calendar on the wall reads December 26. Dad is sitting in his chair with an ice pack on his head. Mom is in a bathrobe and her hair in rollers. The floor is a virtual mountain of torn wrappings, boxes, and bows. Junior is reaching in his stocking to be sure that there is no more candy. In the background we see a table with a thoroughly picked turkey still sitting there. The caption on the cartoon reads simply: The morning after.

Well, perhaps we feel a little that way. Perhaps we fell somewhat let down. If you feel that way it is quite understandable. Over the past weeks our emotions have been wound tighter than a toy doll. Our festivities have led up to near fever pitch. And then, suddenly, it is all over. Is it any wonder that it is somewhat of a let down. Psychiatrist even have a word for it. They call it Christmas-slump.

A number of years ago, when Lou Holtz was at the University of Arkansas, he was taking his team to play a bowl game in Tempe, Arizona. The game was to be played on Christmas day. He was asked how he felt about playing a game on Christmas, rather than being with his family. The coach answered candidly: "I would rather be in Tempe. After all, once you have been to church, had Christmas dinner, and opened the presents, Christmas is the most boring day of the year."

Is it possible to lose the spirit of Christmas that quickly? Let us be candid that as we take down the decorations for another year, there is a sinking emptiness and an emotional let down. My Mom long ago gave up live Christmas trees in favor of artificial. I remember trying as a child trying all the tricks to keep it alive. We put aspirin in the water, then we would try sugar, but regardless of the solutions the tree would always wither. Why? because it had been cut off from its roots.

May be that is our problem this morning. Maybe we have trouble making Christmas last because we have become cut off from our roots. Or, to put it another way, maybe our celebration of Christmas is not deeply rooted enough.

How do we deeply root our celebration of Christmas so it will last. This morning, I would like to propose two ways.

1. First, we need to be Serious about our Tradition.
2. Second, we must be vigilant.

Two Fishing Stories:

Two guys go on a fishing trip. They rent all the equipment: the reels, the rods, the wading suits, the rowboat, the car, and even a cabin in the woods. They spend a fortune. The first day they go fishing they catch nothing. The same thing happens on the second day, and on the third day. It goes on like this until finally, on the last day of their vacation, one of the men finally catches a fish.

As they drive home, they are both really depressed. One turns to the other and says, "Do you realize that this one lousy fish we caught cost us fifteen hundred dollars?"

With sarcasm his freind replies, "Wow! It's a good thing we didn't catch any more!"

Story #2

A man was stopped by a game-warden in a State Park with two buckets of fish leaving a lake well known for its fishing. The game warden asked, "Do you have a license to catch those fish?"

The man replied to the game warden, "No, sir. These are my pet fish."

"Pet fish?" the warden replied.

"Yes, sir. Every night I take these here fish down to the lake and let them swim around for a while. I whistle and they jump back into their buckets, and I take 'em home."

"That's a bunch of nonsense! Fish can't do that!"

The man looked at the game warden for a moment, and then said, "Here, I'll show you. It really works."

"OK. I've GOT to see this!" 

The man poured the fish into the river and stood and waited. After several minutes, the game warden turned to the man and said, "Well?"

"Well, what?" the man responded.

"When are you going to call them back?" the game warden prompted.

"Call who back?" the man asked.

"The FISH!"

"What fish?" the man asked.

A few years ago, a radio station ran a contest. Disc jockeys invited their listeners to tune in their clock radios. "Just for fun," they said, "when you wake up to the sound of FM-106, call and tell us the first words you spoke when you rolled out of bed. If you're the third caller, you'll win $106."

It didn't take long for the contest to grow in enthusiasm. The first morning, a buoyant disc jockey said, "Caller number three, what did you say when you rolled out of bed this morning?" A groggy voice said, "Do I smell coffee burning?" Another day, a sleepy clerical worker said, "Oh no, I'm late for work." Somebody else said her first words were, "Honey, did I put out the dog last night?" A muffled curse was immediately heard in the background, and then a man was heard to say, "No, you didn't." It was a funny contest and drew a considerable audience.

One morning, however, the third caller said something unusual. The station phone rang. "Good morning, this is FM-106. You're on the air. What did you say when you rolled out of bed this morning?"

A voice with a Bronx accent replied, "You want to know my first words in the morning?"

The bubbly DJ said, "Yes, sir! Tell us what you said."

The Bronx voice responded, "Shema, Israel ... Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might." There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Then the radio announcer said, "Sorry, wrong number," and cut to a commercial.

Try to remember. What did you say when you rolled out of bed today? Chances are, those words set the tone for the rest of the day. For the pious Jew the first words of each morning are always the same, and they were the words spoken that morning on FM-106. They were first spoken by Moses, who said, "Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Teach them to your children and talk about them when you lie down and when you rise" (Deuteronomy 6:6-7).

Kenneth Fearing, the poet, describes a particularly long and wearisome day in one woman's life. (William Dols, Just Because It Didn't Happen..., "I Say to You, 'Arise!'")  Evening finally comes.  The house is quiet at last.  The children have been tucked into bed and are asleep.  She sits in the family room with her husband and they lose themselves in the blur of the images on the television.  They talk a little, but not enough.  They try to make time pass with a drink.  Then the eleven o'clock news is over, and she says she will go up to bed.  She asks, "Are you coming soon?"  He replies with, "In a minute."  But as she heads toward the stairs, she hears him switch the channel to a late show and she knows that it will be another hour or so of watching, and she will drop off to sleep alone again.  As she climbs the stairs in the dark, she does a silly thing that she did as a child when she was afraid.  She counts the number of steps.  And, then, not really wanting to and wishing that she had not, she asks herself:  Did you sometime or somewhere have a different idea?  She pauses for an instant.  Should she go upstairs alone or return downstairs alone?  And the reality of her soul's death causes her to wonder for the first time in her life:  Is this what I was born to feel and to do and to be?

It is at these moments that the power of the gospel has opportunity to shine.  Robert Capon has said, "Jesus came to raise the dead.  The only qualification for the gift of the Gospel is to be dead.  You do not have to be smart.  You do not have to be good.  You do not have to be wise.  You do not have to be wonderful.  You do not have to be anything...you just have to be dead.  That's it." 

Martin Rinkart was a minister in the little town of Eilenburg in Germany some 350 years ago. He was the son of a poor coppersmith, but somehow, he managed to work his way through an education. Finally, in the year 1617, he was offered the post of Archdeacon in his hometown parish. A year later, what has come to be known as the Thirty-Years-War broke out. His town was caught right in the middle. In 1637, the massive plague that swept across the continent hit Eilenburg... people died at the rate of fifty a day and the man called upon to bury most of them was Martin Rinkart. In all, over 8,000 people died, including Martin's own wife. His labors finally came to an end about 11 years later, just one year after the conclusion of the war. His ministry spanned 32 years, all but the first and the last overwhelmed by the great conflict that engulfed his town.

Tough circumstances in which to be thankful. But he managed. And he wrote these words:

Now thank we all our God
With heart and hands and voices;
Who wondrous things hath done,
In whom his world rejoices.

It takes a magnificent spirit to come through such hardship and express gratitude. Here is a great lesson. Surrounded by tremendous adversity, thanksgiving will deliver you...with heart and hand and voices.

Sam Duncan lay in the semi-darkness of his nursing home room performing the only two activities of which he still considered himself capable: watching and waiting. Although his eyesight was dim, he could still make out the steady brightening of the light of dawn through the window next to his bed. And although his hearing was too far gone to catch the rumble of the medicine cart, as it worked its way up the hall toward his room, he could sense that the time for his morning pills was near. He waited for the nurse to push open the door and greet him and his roommate Arthur, who was still snoring loudly in the bed next to his.

Most of the accepted measures of quality of human existence no longer affected Sam. While time, in terms of years, seemed to slip away unnoticed, the hours of the day crept by in agonizing slowness. Time no longer meant anything to him. Schedules all belonged to the nurses and aides and family members who waited on him. He himself had no claim to time. The staff dieticians and cooks decided what he would eat, and when. The aides assigned to care for him on any given day decided when he would be bathed, dressed, shaved, and even toileted. His family decided what clothes he needed, what treats to bring to him, and when he should go out. The activity director decided when he needed exercise, stimulation and entertainment, and he was delivered into her hands by the aides upon request.

There were few days when Sam could tell you what had occurred the day before, or even the hour before. He had little memory for what he had eaten for dinner Tuesday or breakfast Saturday. He seldom knew the day of the week or the correct month, although seasons were still instinctively evident. The minutia of every day had ceased to have meaning for him even before his nursing home days had begun ten years earlier, and he felt no concern or remorse over loss of interest in such trivia. But if you asked him if he remembered Pearl Harbor, or the day Franklin Roosevelt died, or what he was doing the day JFK was assassinated, he could tell you with detailed clarity what had gone on. He recalled vividly his wedding day, the day he and Martha buried their firstborn infant son, the details of the funeral of his grandson Sam who was killed in Vietnam, and what the weather was like on the day Martha died.

Sam also remembered the friends who had been most dear to him. They had all been gone for many years: Boots Martin, who had served with him in Germany in WW I; Alvy Hankins, who had gone to school with him and farmed outside of town; Dick Travis, who had been his business partner for nearly forty years ... all dead and buried long ago. It hadn't seemed unnatural that he had outlived them all, just part of life. But when he had outlived all of his children, the burden of life had become heavy, cumbersome. And now, at 102, it was nearly unbearable.

Sam had never been a complainer. Life was what it was. He didn't second-guess nature or the Creator. When he and Martha lost that first baby son, they had grieved and comforted one another, and eventually gone on with their lives. And God had blessed them with six healthy children who had survived well into old age. The death and destruction he had seen in the trenches during "the war to end all wars" was etched in his memory for all time, and yet he had survived it, both physically and emotionally. But when his grandson, young Samuel Wilks Duncan III, had been killed in Vietnam at the tender age of nineteen, it had taken much prayer and effort to overcome his sense of anger and grief. And when Martha died in 1989, at the ripe old age of ninety, and his own heart beat on strong and steady, even though he knew it was broken, he had shaken a mental fist at God and demanded to know why. Why must he be left to bear the burdens of life alone? At 93, why couldn't he go home, too?

That had been ten years ago. Ten years of slowly declining health, gradual loss of sight, hearing, movement and body function. Ten years of being taken here and there, regardless of his own wishes, by those whose job it was to provide him with comfort, stimulation, and quality of life. His grandchildren became so busy with their own lives that they seldom visited. And when his last surviving daughter had died of cancer last year at the age of 75, Sam couldn't help but wonder if God was allowing him to be put to the test, as he did Job. He felt very keenly the truth of Jesus' words in the Gospel of John:

... when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.

And so Sam had formed a mental list of Psalms from which to pray in all of his various moods:

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long? -- Psalm 13:1-2

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? Oh my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.  -- Psalm 22:1-2

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff -- they comfort me. -- Psalm 23:4

As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. -- Psalm 42:1

Do not cast me off in the time of old age; do not forsake me when my strength is spent. For my enemies speak concerning me, and those who watch for my life consult together. -- Psalm 71:9-10

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. -- Psalm 30:4-5

Joy comes with the morning ... Sam's litany came to an end as the nurse pushed through the door with the medications.

"Good morning, Sam. Wake up, Arthur! It's time for your pills. It's a special day, Sam. Do you remember what day it is?"

"I don't know. Tuesday, maybe?"

"No, Saturday. You're going to have a lot of company today. This is your birthday, Sam. Do you remember how old you are today."

"I guess I'd be about 103."

"That's right. One hundred and three years old. Everyone is coming for your birthday party today. All of your grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and I've heard you even have a couple of great-great grandsons."

"I think they even named one of them after me."

"Well, April will be in in another hour or so to give you your breakfast and bath. When you're all dressed and ready, we'll take some pictures with all of your friends. Happy Birthday, Sam!"

One hundred and three. As he swallowed his pills, Sam's mind drifted back to the lighthearted days of his youth, when he and his friends used to say things like, "I'll never understand that if I live to be a hundred." Things don't really change, Sam thought. I've lived to be more than a hundred, and there are so many things I still don't understand. "Do not cast me off in the time of old age." "Weeping may linger with the night, but joy comes in the morning." Sam sighed and laid back to watch and wait.

Listen for a moment, to the story of one of the most dramatic victories we Christians know anything about.

The night Jesus was born angels came to shepherds near Bethlehem, and one said, "I bring you good news of a great joy." That was a happy greeting.

But a deep, dark valley of sorrow lay between that salutation and the joy it promised. For the new-born Child, trials and sufferings began almost immediately. When he was just a baby a jealous king tried to kill him. When he grew up the people at Nazareth threw him out of their city. He became a wandering teacher - homeless, often hungry and weary, tempted and sorely tried. He was hated, accused, denied, betrayed. At last, there came a Friday when a wreath of thorns was pressed hard on his brow, and he was spat upon, scourged with whips, nailed to a cross, and by mid-afternoon he was dead. Before sundown, his body was placed in a tomb, lent for the purpose through the generosity of a kind-hearted man. The life whose beginning was heralded by the happy song of angels had been one long sequence of heartbreak and pain.

But the story does not end here. On the first Sunday following his burial, very early in the morning, Jesus met his friends walking in the garden outside the tomb, and his first word was this: "All hail!" - the Greek word "chairete," "Joy be to you!" "Be of good cheer!"

This greeting was a happy one, this greeting in the garden. Here, perhaps not more than an hour away from the tomb, Jesus picked up the theme of joy precisely where the angels had left it more than thirty years before. And here today, nearly 2,000 years later, let us echo that theme again: "Be of good cheer: we bring you good news of a great joy!"