4th Sunday of Easter                         WELCA Sunday                          April 25, 2010

            When Ardy asked if I would consider speaking at today’s worship service, I surprised myself by not only saying yes, but also by choosing a topic immediately:  Christian Community.  It’s a topic that I have returned to time and again throughout my life, and each time I do, I am reminded that striving to live as a member of the Christian community of faith is a life-long endeavor.

            My own awareness of living as a member of a community was tested and defined when as a newly wed, Steve and I moved to Mora.  Even though I was born and raised in Nebraska, a state few people associate with major metropolitan areas, I had never actually lived in a town of fewer than 200,000 people, and the idea of no longer being a rather anonymous city-dweller was going to take some getting used to.

            While I didn’t go kicking and screaming, I did go with a plan, my “five-year plan”.  I’d give this gig in Mora five years—no whining or complaining-- no “if onlys” or conditions.  I’d give it my all.  Then we’d move back to the Twin Cities where I could neatly separate my real life from my work life, my Monday to Friday life from my weekend life, my life with my family from my life as Mrs. Blenkush or the pastor’s wife.  I certainly had a plan, but what I didn’t plan for was what the people in that small town would teach me about community.    Over the course of thirteen years, my mental photo album of life in a small town changed significantly.   Three particular snapshots tell this story.       

            The first picture is a rather sheepish Steve telling me that he had purchased a deep freezer at the local appliance store.  We’d only lived in Mora for a few months, but I had opened an account at Rick’s Furniture and Appliances before we were married.   The credit card still carried my maiden name and St. Paul address, but Steve was able to access my line of credit simply because he told them he was the new pastor and that I was his wife.  Unlike one of the big box stores in the Cities, no photo ID was requested; no second form of identification or a pin number, not even MY signature was required.  The entire transaction occurred on the assurance that Steve’s handshake and good name was enough.  

            My five-year plan soon morphed into an eight-year plan after the birth of our two children only sixteen months apart.  I was immersed in the joys, and yes, exhaustion of teaching and caring for my family.  We’d move when Teddy started kindergarten, I thought.  That added three more years to “the plan”, but it was still do-able.

            The second snapshot took place a few years later.   Steve and I are in the backyard with our children watching the local volunteer fire department monitor the house next door as a practice burn.  While Katie and Teddy were mesmerized by the flames and fire trucks, I distinctly remember looking out at the street as the firefighters gathered after the burn and realizing that I could name every single one of those men.  Some of them sat next to me at church; some sat across from me during parent-teacher conferences as we talked about their children, my students.  One of them lived behind us and plowed our side street within an hour of snowfall; one of them sold us Katie’s first bike.   If I needed them, they would be there, most likely calling out for each member of my family by name to make sure we were okay.

            The third snapshot is simply a pillow in the back seat of a car. I was now forty years old, my children were three and four, and I was undergoing treatment for breast cancer.  I made it through surgery, two rounds of chemo, and 33 daily trips to St. Cloud for radiation.  One Sunday, a church member passed around a sign up sheet during coffee hour to rally volunteers to help with driving.  I think every single retired person in that church, and even some of their friends, signed up to help.  Sometimes two would sign up together just to keep each other company on the two-hour trip there and back.

            About a week into my radiation regiment, I started dozing off on the return trip.  I’d be chatting with my drivers, then wake up to a gentle shake as we pulled into my driveway.  No one said anything to me but they must have talked to each other.  I can imagine their conversation:  “She gets a bit sleepy on the way home.  You might want to put a pillow in the backseat for her.”  And so they did.  Each day there was a new driver waiting in my driveway and each one had a pillow in his backseat to make my journey back home a bit more comfortable.

            So what did these events teach me about community?  I learned that rather than forcing conformity, living in community allows us to be who we truly are with our strengths and our weaknesses.  And I learned that living in community allows us to be both caretakers and those who are taken care of.  My understanding of how I was strengthened as an individual by being part of a community was developed in this small town, and it has strengthened my understanding of myself as a member of a Christian community as well.     During my time at the Easter prayer vigil, I picked up a book called Faithful and Courageous: Christians in Unsettling Times by Bishop Mark Hanson.   While I may be oversimplifying, Bishop Hanson’s remedy for living in unsettling times is to find strength in ourselves as a Christian community.

            First of all, this Christian community of ours is comprised of saints and sinners, those who are questioning their faith and those who are teachers of the faith.  This community is not perfect by any means, but it is a grace-filled institution that allows and yes, even expects, that we are going to come up short at times, that we may even have questions about our faith.

            Bishop Hansen says this about our Christian community and questions:

“Trusting God’s faithful promises does not mean that we have no doubts, no questions.  It is just the opposite.  God’s promise of faithfulness gives us the freedom to express our doubts, to raise our questions, to engage in the human quest to discover meaning for our lives” (p. 37-38).

            He further states, “Where can I go to get help with the questions life asks of me, especially those that keep me awake in the night?  I can’t find the answers alone.  I need a community that helps me discern the truth among the myriad conflicting ideas and views with which I am bombarded daily.  Our congregations can be such truth–discerning communities” (42).

            Our church community is a place where we can be assured that no matter where we are in our faith journey, no matter how isolated or estranged we may feel from the world outside these doors, and no matter how difficult the questions are that may cause us to stay awake at night, we are accepted and honored in this community of faith.

            Not only does our Christian community act as a safe place to wrestle with the questions of our world, it also works as a place of sanctuary, a place to be both caretaker and one taken care of.

            I’m not telling any secrets when I mention that as children of Scandinavian or German forefathers living in the Mid-West, it doesn’t always feel comfortable asking for help.  We are quick to be helpers: in times of emergency we are there with a hotdish, a handkerchief or maybe a shovel, but it’s not easy to turn the tables and ask for that help. 

            Living in Christian community, we are given the blessing of being taken care of when we need it.  Bishop Hansen explains this in his book when he talks about how his parishioners who had suffered loss, such as divorce, loss of a job, or a death in the family found it difficult to return to church.  Hanson says that to these people he would say:  “Come and be surrounded by the people who will sing the songs for you, pray for you, confess the creed on your behalf, who will be the community of confession and absolution when you feel totally isolated by your sorrow, your grief, your fear” (27).

            As a Christian community, we are stronger than we could be as individuals:  strong enough to speak out, strong enough to endure, strong enough to console.  Perhaps it’s the English teacher side of me, but I am reminded each time I come to the Lord’s table that the word “communion” is comprised of the same Latin root as for “community”: communio, which means "a sharing”.    St. Augustine used this word “communion” to mean "oneness, union."  This weekend pastors and church members gather together in Brainerd for the Northeast Synod Assembly.  Interestingly, “synod” comes from two Greek words:  “syn”, which means together; and “hodos”, which means a way.  Combined, they mean “a way together” or “walking together”.  We celebrate our sacraments and our most important Christian rituals as a community, not as individuals.  We baptize our children in the midst of this community, we profess our wedding vows in the midst of this community, we install our pastors and confirm our young adults in the midst of this community, and we bury our loved ones surrounded by this community.

            If the Christian community of Zion Lutheran Church is strong enough to do all this for all of us, think of what we could do for those outside this community?  The “take home” message here is perhaps suggested by Bishop Hanson when he offers an encouraging mission statement at the end of his book:

“Rather than pitting ourselves against one another, in congregations or denominations, we need to bring these concerns into a common conversation.  We do this not as conservatives or liberals, Republicans or Democrats but as brothers and sisters, children of one God who respect and love one another.  We need one another to do all this, and we also need those now outside the boundaries of the church, just as they need us.  We can look for opportunities to invite others to hear the promises of God.  We can invite them to bring their questions and to join with us in searching for answers.  We can expose them to the probing questions of Jesus.  We can challenge them to join us in doing the faith, in obeying the commands of Jesus.  And we can ask for their help as we discern our way in the world.”

            Discerning our way in this world?  No easy task.  But it isn’t a task we set out on alone.  Look around you.  Together we can pray for guidance, together we can support each other, together we can pass this faith onto the children of this congregation.  Together we welcome members into our congregation.  Together we can live out the command to love one another.   As I stated at the beginning of my talk, my understanding of myself and my relationship to my community has been a life-long endeavor.  I thank God for this community of believers to help me continue my journey.

Julia Blenkush

 

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