Are You The One?

A message delivered as opening devotions for a special called meeting of the Synod of the Pacific, August 16, 2021.


I was casting about for some reading to share with you today – someone else’s words that matched my thoughts – when I decided that it would be more to the point to share a few of my own words.

It started about 20 years ago. A friend, mentor, and pastor of the church in a neighboring town asked me to fill his pulpit on a Sunday morning.  Now this guy is anything but a normal preacher. So I had a feeling that his congregation probably wouldn’t respond well to a normal sermon. So on the appointed Sunday morning, next to the pulpit, sat my mother’s wingback chair, an end table with a lamp and coffee mug, and a story I had written.  At sermon time I sat in the chair and read the story. That started a practice of occasionally writing sermon stories that seek to put Biblical truths in contemporary context.

What I bring you this morning is one such.  It is based on the Matthew 11 text where the disciples of John come to ask if Jesus is the Messiah. His reply: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

Living in this age, listening to the religious rhetoric that gets bandied about on the Editorial page or social media, it seems that we have quite a bit in common with John.  We seem to have our own expectations about the Messiah that, frankly, don’t match very well with what we find in the gospels.  It’s as if we are looking for a messiah who will fulfill our vision, not God’s plan. I find myself thinking about how we miss so much of the Messiah in our daily lives because, like John and his disciples, we are asking the wrong question.  And I wonder just how a Messiah who came today might appear.

The blind receive their sight

He sat there, sign propped up against his knees, waiting.  It was one more long cold day.  For him there was no tomorrow, barely a yesterday.  There was really only today, the next passer-by, the next quarter dropped in his upturned hat, or not.

She was in a hurry, late as usual, thinking of her next appointment.  Preoccupied as she was, she almost tripped over him.  Honestly! Why can’t these people just stay down by the river, or in the shelters where they belong?  She turned to glare at him, and froze. 

“Hi Betty.” 

She couldn’t believe it.  She had known Sam for years.  She hadn’t seen him recently, and now she knew why. 

“What happened?” 

She was so flustered that the question was out of her mouth before she could think.  How is it possible that one of her friends was sitting here, a common bum?  Those people were too lazy to work, but the Sam she knew was anything but lazy.

“Well, it’s kind-of a long story.  Maybe I can share it with you some time.”

Why not now?  It was just a thought, but the longer she stared, the more she wanted to know.  She wandered down the street in a daze.  She sat through the meeting in a daze.  At lunch she only toyed with her food.  In truth her thoughts were more present with Sam than with her lunch guests.

She found him again just before 4:00.  She was more prepared this time, but the sight of him was still shocking to her.  Ignoring the knot in her stomach, she offered to buy him dinner, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t suggest one of the restaurants she frequented with clients.  So it took her completely by surprise when he suggested that she join him to eat at the mission.  Her heart screamed to say “no”, her mind willed her feet to run, far, far away.  But she heard herself saying ‘OK, if they’ll let me eat there.’

Sam laughed, and he was suddenly every bit the friend she remembered.  Together they walked to the mission.  Together they shared a meal that she would never forget, a meal shared not with anonymous homeless people, but with new friends, people with names and stories and, deep down inside, with hopes and dreams.

The lepers are cleansed

They were up early.  Marge commented how some things never change.  Granted the children no longer invaded their sleep with eager expectations of hidden delights under the tree.  Now it was the alarm that did that job and it was their turn to roust the children.  He smiled, enjoying a brief moment of sweet revenge as the children complained at the earliness of the hour.

They ate breakfast as they opened presents. Then leaving the mess they packed the cars and headed out.  They arrived at the shelter home shortly before 10:00.  The residents helped them carry in the supplies and gifts.  She thought to herself that these young mothers, children really, seemed to get younger every year.  Her heart went out to them.  Soon, however they were busy – some in the big industrial kitchen, putting together the Christmas dinner, others in the rec. room trying to decipher poorly translated assembly instructions; fixing new, and newly broken toys; or just being there to catch balls, play games and listen to the laughter of children.

For that brief moment there were no outcasts, no disadvantaged, no one of privilege.  They were just people celebrating the day, celebrating the spirit together.

The dead are raised

Ted hated the season.  He hated the music.  He hated the lights.  He hated the crowds.  As far as he was concerned, Christmas had ceased to exist the moment Madison Avenue got a-hold of it and the retailers had figured out that you could turn a bad year into a passable one if you could only cram enough people into your store every waking moment between Halloween and New Years day.

Those holidays became markers for him.  As soon as the last trick or treaters scurried off to feed their sugar highs with his hard-earned money he pulled his shades, barred the door and became a virtual hermit.  At first he would surface on New Year’s Day, but sometimes it was later, depending on the weather and the pain in his back.  Thru the years his periods of hibernation got longer and longer until, by the time Suzie Jones was old enough to notice the dark and dreary house across the street, he had become a virtual recluse.  Some of her friends at school even referred to the place as ‘haunted.’ 

Suzie, of course, knew better.  She saw him most every morning as he emerged just long enough to get the paper and she would occasionally see him in the afternoons when he came out to get his mail.  Whenever she saw him she felt sorry for him.  He was old and stooped and seemed to have a spirit as dark as his house.

So it was that one warm summer day he retuned from his trek to the mail box to find Suzie standing on his front porch; terrified, but determined.  Her hands gripped tightly the handles of a tray that held a pitcher of lemonade, glasses, and a plate of cookies.  He looked at the cookies.  He hadn’t had a cookie in a very long time.  He looked at her.  She was as scared as she was obviously determined.  Seeking to reassure her he smiled, his warmest, brightest sunshiny smile.  It struck him that he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled.  She smiled back and another layer of gloom fell from his shoulders.

They sat on his front steps, sharing her cookies and lemonade, sharing a bright summer day and the joy of rebirth.

The poor have good news brought to them

He came to her in a dream, as he often did.  Since she tended to encounter her savior in this way, she had gotten used to paying attention to her dreams.  His message for her that night was a simple one of peace and assurance; “You’re doing fine.  I see how you are living your life, and I feel the love in your heart.  Keep up the good work.”  She awoke with a glad spirit.  Later that day she was driving her daughter to a soccer practice.  She waited at a stoplight while two men crossed directly in front of her.  One turned and looked at her and smiled.  He was the one from her dream.

Please pray with me.  Holy Savior, Risen Lord, Open our eyes to see the miracles around us every hour, every day. Embolden us to be active participants in bringing your kingdom to life here and in the age to come.  Amen.

Guard us from asking the wrong questions Risen Lord. Enable us to see your presence in everyone we meet, every task we undertake, every way we seek to bring your kingdom to fuller presence here and in the age to come.  Amen