Over the years, more and more reasons came and went where I
thought we/they made the wrong decision, or people behaved very-un-Christ-like
and I could barely stand it. I was physically ill over it. Times where I tried to start programs and
when they didn’t take off…times where I felt I wasn’t getting what I needed
spiritually to grow. Hardest have been
the times when I realize people are so very human. People I had on a pedestal fell off and it
has taken much prayer and hard work, to move on and yet stay.
Yesterday, during the sermon I had this vision of a shooting
star arcing through the darkened room back to Cathy. Cathy is moving away and I was feeling sad
about that. I tried to remember how we stitched our lives together originally
and thought of our trip to Guatemala. And
our trip to Las Vegas. And all the times
we served a meal together. Then I looked
around the darkened room and realized I had a similar fine thread of light
linking me to many people in the room. To
Kate, and how she makes me laugh today and as a teenager she attended our ‘ladies’
circle’ because she just liked to. To
Danny and how I used to volunteer at Pioneer club and he attended as a boy. I started thinking about each person on the
stage, and on the floor, and how if I tried not so very hard, I had a history I
could recall. My star reaches out to
theirs, and we have this connection. And
how, if I were to move to a new church, I would be a single light, and I
would have to start all over filling up my sky. This is
not an inconsequential thing, this connecting glimmer. It is a serious thing to give up on all the
stars in heaven and to go shine alone again.
And even when people break your heart, or behave badly, or make you lose
your temper, they are your church family.
They are human. And if it takes
ten years to forgive, maybe it is worth that ten years, if it matures you as a
Christian. Being tested forces you to
try to retain your own ethics and values, to really get to the root of what you
do and do not believe. Maybe the trials
and tribulations of human-ness are part of what God wants to happen in a
church. Like the lost sheep, he wants
those who stray brought back in his fold.
I recently learned of Vincent Van Gogh’s attempt to be a minister, and how
his famous “Starry Night” painting has a possible hidden message in it. He paints the town with twinkling lights but
the church is dark, perhaps to reflect his bitterness at not being accepted to
seminary. But I prefer to think of God’s
church as his people, not a building.
The church is dark when all the people are at home. Because the people are the church, not the
building. And they are lighting Van Gogh’s
town from their homes, because it doesn’t happen to be a night where the church
has anything going on. But the people,
they still have life to live, shining out from their homes.
Is there anything more beautiful than a navy sky filled with
stars? I don’t think so. And God gave us this beauty.
When you are in a town with lots of street
lights and neon signs and stadium lights, you can’t see the stars. The world’s brash light distracts us from any
possibility of noticing the starlight. The trees in
my neighborhood are over a hundred years old and obscure the night sky, but
imagine what that 100 year old tree seems like from the star's perspective. If you can get around all the
things blocking your view. The things
right in front of your face, that insist on attention. If you get out in a nice open field, on a
clear night, the sight is so lovely. And
so each light in my night sky is a person, and that light is why I keep them in
my life. Why I try, try, and try
again. We are
relational beings and relationships are more important, while we’re here on
earth, than almost anything else. Some
nights, the heavy clouds disguise the stars, but the stars, they still
shine.
