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A Sermon by Donel McClellan A Sermon by Donel McClellan A Sermon by Donel McClellan A Sermon by Donel McClellan
A Forever Family For each Sunday of the year I have a manila folder full of notes, previous sermons and materials
related to the texts for that week in the lectionary. The New Common lectionary is used by many churches
ranging from the Roman Catholic and Episcopal Churches to Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, Disciples
of Christ and UCC congregations, to name a few. The lectionary provides four readings for each Sunday:
one from the Hebrew Bible, a Psalm, a selection from an Epistle and one from a Gospel. The lectionary had
four scripture readings a week for three years. Then it starts all over again. That means that each week as I plan for worship, my folder is stuffed with materials from three, six,
nine, twelve and, would you believe, fifteen years ago? I pay special attention to what we were doing three
years ago. In case you are interested, on May 12, 1996 our organist was Judy
Widrig, Kay Hageman was
choir director, Bobbi Virta had Time with Children, Cindy prayed and I preached. The High School youth
were raising funds for their trip to the National Youth Event and boards were meeting the following
Monday. The candle of life was lit to acknowledge the birth of Noah Jamie Craswell Bye, Keith and
Elulalah's grandson, to commemorate the death of Bob Rogers, and to celebrate the baptism of Jenna
Arnold. Some things change and others remain the same. It is Jenna's baptism which got me to thinking. Jenna
is Cathy's beautiful adopted daughter. Her older sister Tina was adopted later and was also baptized here.
But before Tina's baptism, Cindy and I were invited to join their family at the Courthouse when the
adoption was finalized. At that moment, Cathy could promise Tina as she had promised Jenna that they
would be a forever family. A for ever family. That was a new phrase to me which came as I began to grasp what it means to be
adopted. But how can weunderstand adoption unless we have some idea of what it means to loose ones
family, to be abandoned. Family is the soil in which children take root. When biological families are not
available, adoptive families take their place and promise to be forever families. These thoughts were on my mind as I read our Gospel lesson which is a portion of Jesus' final
instructions to the disciples. Jesus promises that "If you love me, and obey the commandments I give you"
then you will receive a gift. The gift is the presence of a paraclete, a helper, the Spirit of Truth. The Greek
word paraclete refers to a legal advocate who will defend one in court, someone to be on our side when the
going gets rough. Next Jesus promises, "I won't leave you orphaned" In other words, the Christian church is to be Jesus'
forever family, supported by the Holy Spirit as an advocate, a helper and a guide. I want to be very clear in this time of heightened individualism. Jesus did not make this promise to
individuals, but to a group of disciples who were to become the first community of Christ, the Christian
Church. These promises are made to the church and therefore the church is called to be Jesus' forever
family for all who seek a spiritual home. Jesus promises that the church will not be abandoned. We will not be orphaned by God. This is spoken
in a culture in which these words have heightened meaning. The Roman world disposed of unwanted
children by abandoning them to the animals or to the elements. In response, the early Christian communities
took upon themselves the adoption of abandoned children to save them from death, slavery or prostitution. I
suspect that early Christians considered the parenthood of God to be a comforting remedy to a world of
less than perfect parents.1 Because they knew they were adopted by God, they reached out to adopt others.
That's what it meant to love and to follow the commandments given by Jesus. Love is hard and rewarding work. Every mother knows that. Motherhood (and fatherhood, as well) is
an amazing mix of love and suffering. One cannot love without becoming vulnerable to suffering. Pat de Jong, pastor of the First Congregational Church of Berkeley, shared a family story in response
to this Gospel lesson. Some years ago, her family went through a difficult, traumatic time as her sister Leslie delivered a
baby girl more than three months early. The baby weighed one and a half pounds at birth and in a bold act
of faith the family named this scrawny little girl Laurel, which means a "wreath of victory." When Laurel's father, Bruce, scrubbed up for his first visit, she was in an isolette in the neonatal
intensive care unit of the hospital. She had two IVs in her navel, one in her foot, a monitor on each side of
her chest, a respirator tube and a feeding tube in her little nose. She was so tiny that her six-foot-four inch
father could slip his wedding ring all the way up her arm. The caring nurse gave Bruce his instructions. "For the next several months, you are to come and visit
Laurel every day. And when you come, I want you to rub her body and arms and legs with the tip of your
finger. And while you are touching her, tell her over and over how much you love her, because she has to
connect your voice with your touch. It will give her strength. It will help her become determined to live. It
will tell her she is loved." Bruce and Leslie, are singers; and they sang to Laurel as she lay in her
isolette; lullabies and hymns
and show tunes. They told her every day how beautiful and how loved she was and how much she meant to
them. Laurel connected her tiny, struggling life to love. Today, Laurel is a happy, healthy little girl. She
connected the sound of her parents' voices with the love and life. Incidentally, she also displayed, at an
early age, a precocious propensity for show tunes!2 That is what it means, not to be abandoned, not to be orphaned. Jesus reminds the church of God's
touch and God's voice. We are loved. We will never be orphaned. And we will be touched by the Spirit of
Truth. That's what it means to be a forever family. But lest we take Jesus' assurance too glibly, let us remember that love is an endless series of actions on
behalf of another. It is more than a feeling of fondness, more than a promise of roses. Love is what sustains
forever families. And love is often the chief mark of mothers. The following is a tribute to mothers which
lost the identity of the author on its way through the Internet. I regret that because I resonate to its candor
and honesty. It is directed to mothers, but it is just as true of fathers and grandfathers, uncles, aunts and
cousins who act with love in their families. It is called: MOTHERS: EVERY YEAR IS THEIR YEAR This is for all the mothers who DIDN'T win Mother of the Year in 1999. All the runners-up and all the wannabes. The mothers too tired to enter or too busy to care. This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at soccer games Friday night
instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see my goal?" they could say "Of
course, wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it. This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf
laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here." This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can't find their children. This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those
babies and made them homes. For all the mothers who run car pools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T. What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, fry a chicken, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son disappear down the street, walking to school alone for
the very first time? The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put your hand on the back of a
sleeping baby? The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a
fire, a car accident, a baby dying? I think so. So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies.
And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't. This is for reading Goodnight, Moon twice a night for a year. And then reading it again. "Just one
more time." This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in
despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2 year old who wants ice cream before dinner. This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead. For all the mothers who bite their lips -- sometimes until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their
hair green. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop. This is for the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses
and diapers in their purse. This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot. This is for all the mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd,
even though they know their own offspring are at home. This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves. This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them. This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomachaches, assuring them they'd be
just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please
pick them up. Right away. This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. And mature
mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married
mothers. Mothers with money, mothers without. This is for you all. So hang in there. Better luck next year, I'll be rooting for you. And for you, my forever family, I share Jesus' promise once more. 15 "If you love me, and obey the commandments I give you, 16 I will ask the One who sent me, to give
you another Paraclete, another Helper, to be with you always--17 the Spirit of truth, 18 "I won't leave you orphaned; I will come back to you. 21 Those who obey the commandments and are the ones who love me; and those who love me will be
loved by Abba God." Amen. 2. Patricia de Jong, To an Unknown God, a sermon preached at the First Congregational Church of Berkeley,
California on May 12, 1996 |