Scripture:
Father's day, Mother's day -- and in other parts of the world, Grandparent's Day and Children's Day -- each of these is a reminder of the gift of relationship; the possibility of caring and compassion between and among us. In this passage from Exodus, as the Israelites wander the desert, God reminds them of the care they have known by God's hand. Even in the wilderness, the Israelites are able to recognize God's caring touch. I read from the 19th chapter of Exodus, beginning with verse 2:

They had journeyed from Rephidim, entered the wilderness of Sinai, and camped in the wilderness; Israel camped there in front of the mountain. [3] Then Moses went up to God; the LORD called to him from the mountain, saying, "Thus you shall say to the house of Jacob, and tell the Israelites: [4] You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles' wings and brought you to myself. [5] Now therefore, if you obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples. Indeed, the whole earth is mine, [6] but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation. These are the words that you shall speak to the Israelites."

[7] So Moses came, summoned the elders of the people, and set before them all these words that the LORD had commanded him. [8] The people all answered as one: "Everything that the LORD has spoken we will do." Moses reported the words of the people to the LORD.

Our second reading is Psalm 100. It too is a reminder of God's providence, and an invitation to enter into that relationship with our whole selves. Let us read this Psalm as a unison reading. Please turn to the back of your hymnal, page 531; reading No. 95.

Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth. [2] Worship the LORD with gladness; come into his presence with singing. [3] Know that the LORD is God. It is he that made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. [4] Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise. Give thanks to him, bless his name. [5] For the LORD is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.

Jesus' ministry is rooted in compassion -- that is, his willingness to suffer with the pain of others. He calls disciples to do the same, and through relationships built on compassion, to be healers. Hear now the commissioning of the disciples, in the Gospel according to Matthew, beginning with chapter 9, verse 35:

Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness. [36] When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. [37] Then he said to his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; [38] therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest."

[10:1] Then Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness. [2] These are the names of the twelve apostles: first, Simon, also known as Peter, and his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee, and his brother John; [3] Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus; [4] Simon the Cananaean, and Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.

[5] These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: "Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, [6] but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. [7] As you go, proclaim the good news, 'The kingdom of heaven has come near.' [8] Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.

Sermon:


Two months ago, when Barbara van Swerengen and Susan Shurin stood at the lectern and charged you, as congregation, and me, as minister, in the context of my installation, both of them emphasized that ministry was a two way street. Not only does the minister care for, pray for, and reach out and help the congregation; but the congregation does the same for the minister. Today, I seek your help in preaching this sermon. The sermon is for my father, and it has four parts.

PART I: TIME'S UP!

It's Father's Day. Father's day is one of many Sundays throughout the year which suggest--to the preaching minister--a certain focus. On most of these secular holidays, I dodge the opportunity because these holidays receive ample emphasis throughout our society. But occasionally, one of these holidays allows me to make a point which is in service of the Gospel.

Today is Father's Day. Since 1954 -- when I was four years old -- this has been a day on which I have honored my father. When I was young, I would concentrate my best efforts on decorating a pencil holder, or shaping clay for a kiln fired ash tray. These gifts were always received with great enthusiasm, which instantly relieved my anxiety that my work had been mis directed. As I grew older, gifts were harder to find. Perhaps I didn't know my Dad well enough to know exactly what he would want.

Then I realized that the material gifts didn't matter to him. This became clear to me when I was in my 20s. At that period of our relationship, my Dad and I had a tendency to respond to one another as adversaries. And I felt that little that I was doing with my life was good enough to merit his endorsement. But then he let slip the following comment. I was home from graduate school -- visiting, talking, and (truth be told) studying a good bit. It was my last morning with him. Walking away from the breakfast table, he commented that he was going to seal the driveway later that day. I remembered helping him with that grimy chore when I was about 12. But I was leaving in an hour or so. . . . Then he said that when he was at college and he came home for a visit, as soon as he walked in the door, he began helping his father with whatever task needed to be accomplished. He didn't slow down until he boarded the bus to return to school. The message was clear. TIME was the gift he desired. The gift of his son's TIME -- made available for whatever purpose the father required.

After that, I found more ways to take time. I would write lengthy letters. Call more frequently. Do what I could to make it possible to have my Dad and Step Mom visit, and when they did, just take time to be with them.

My Dad died last November 1. His death was completely unanticipated -- he went without warning. Like a thief in the night, his breath was suddenly gone. From that moment on, no matter how much time I was willing to pour into our relationship, it would be for naught.

Today is Father's day. My first Father's day .... with no father alive to honor with a phone call, a gift, a letter or a card. This holiday -- which once provided an annual reminder of the importance of relationship -- now confronts me with the grief which I have sought to avoid these past many months. In times like this, a Christian needs a church -- even if that Christian is a minister.

PART II: WHO KNOWS WHERE THE TIME GOES?

In her book, The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields speaks for many of us as she describes a woman on a plane, flying from London to Florida to visit her mother who is in a hospital and near death. The woman is planning to have a "rich [and] thrilling" conversation with her mother. She contemplates the kinds of questions she might ask:

"Have you been happy in your life?" "Have you found fulfillment?" "Have you had moments of genuine ecstasy? Has it been worth it? . . . Has it been enough, your life, I mean? Are you ready for --?" She finds herself unable to utter the word "death". . . . "Are you frightened? . . ."

But when she arrives, and is at her mother's side, she asks none of these questions. "Instead they speak of apple juice, gravy, screams in the corridor [of the hospital], the doctor..." and other immediate concerns.

Think about your relationship with your parents . . . . And if you have been blessed with children, think about your relationship with your children. Would you agree that there is a telling gap between the intimacy we long for, and the contact we settle for?

• What parent among us has not felt at a loss as his or her child becomes a teenager and is suddenly distant and inaccessible.
  
• What adult child among us has not tried again and again to draw out our mom or our dad, only to realize that our need to connect is a surprise to them, and something they don't quite know how to accommodate?

In the privacy of my heart, I had thought again and again how I would approach my Dad to ask him to tell me the stories:

• about his childhood,
  
• or about his young adult life,
  
• or about the more obscure relatives on his side of the family.
  
• I thought of drawing him out to learn what I had been like as a kid.
  
• Or if my brother and I dealt with one another in the same way as my two sons do.

Once in a while, we would broach one of these topics, and occasionally, for a few precious moments, I was treated to his unique perspective -- one which is now lost. These moments were fleeting, and would be over just as suddenly as they would begin. I had a clear sense that there was much, much more to talk about -- but that the two of us were so inexperienced at such intimacy that sharing in this way had to be limited to brief conversations.

I treasure those moments now -- however brief. They revealed to me secret, inaccessible places that connected my future with my Dad's past. Yet these most treasured memories are but a minority report amidst a cacophony of ordinary, everyday talk.

PART III: MEASURING UP

I don't feel like I ever really measured up in my father's eyes. He had standards, very high standards. And whatever I was capable of doing at the moment, it seemed his standards were always just one small step higher.

• If I scored in soccer -- the question was why I made the bad pass?
  
• If I had a 3.8 on my report card, the focus became the B in Spanish.
  
• If I wrote a good sermon, there was usually a challenge to one or another point.
  

It's a pattern with which many of you are familiar.

From the time I was a teenager, I reciprocated. In conscious and unconscious ways, I found myself wishing that my Dad would develop interests, or skills, or sensitivities which he did not presently have. I'd find all kinds of ways to appeal to his interest, or excite his imagination, or attract his attention to an unfamiliar area -- but again and again, it would become obvious that these were MY interests, and not his . . . . No matter how much I tried to engage him.

As we both matured, and as our relationship deepened, I tried less and less to make him into a father he wasn't, and more and more to appreciate him for the father he was. And gradually, he took the opportunity to share with me his pride in what I had made with my life, and set aside his criticism for opportunities which I had missed.

Slowly, each of us began to realize that the Promised land was not some far away place, from which we were each banned due to our shortcomings. The Promised Land was right here, right now, requiring no further achievement or change. This transformation took place over the last three years of my father's life. It was a change we both longed for. A change which required both of us to take risks, to humble ourselves, and to say to one another that we were sorry.

PART IV: DEAR LORD AND FATHER OF MANKIND.

Last Sunday, we read the words from the hymn Dear Lord and Father of Mankind. As I anticipated and worked on this sermon throughout the week, I kept returning to the metaphor of God as my Father. When I was a child, the image of God as "father" was as pronounced as any image of God which I knew of. As my knowledge of the faith, and my prayer life deepened, my image of God expanded, and I abandoned a number of images and metaphors which appeared to be limiting. Now, with my earthly father dead, I find myself re considering this metaphor in a new context.

Let me re phrase the questions and challenges from each of the three parts of this sermon in a way that connects them with God the Father.

First of all, God lays claim to our time -- all of our time. In this way, God is very jealous. This doesn't mean that we must all "pray without ceasing" like monks in a monastery. But it does mean that connecting with God in some regular way beyond Sunday morning -- directing some of our time and attention and energy to God each day of our lives, is essential for building a worthwhile relationship.

Secondly, when we connect with God, it's important not to limit that contact to the regular, familiar, routine forms of communication:

• coming to church;
  
• receiving communion;
  
• reciting the Lord's Prayer;
  
• offering a few intercessions for friends who are ailing or bereaved, and so forth.
  

These are important -- but there is also much more to share; much more to wonder about; much more to imagine and be open to.

When a small portion of that "much more" makes it through to us, we call it an epiphany. Like a child, we long for those treasured moments in which God's self is transparent and available to us. Be confident that God awaits your initiative, and is ready to meet your most imaginative longing.

Thirdly, because we are children of God, we don't have to "measure up" -- nor do we have anything to prove. God loves us just the way we are, and because of that love, we freely recognize that we don't have to stay the way we are. We can grow, change, evolve, and extend the reach of our embrace.

It's Father's Day. In addition to everything else you may have planned, I hope that you will take a moment to reflect on your relationship with God. Even if you are inclined to dismiss the metaphor of "God as Father" -- I would ask you to reconsider. Not because God is an idealized version of the father we wish we had. But because we need the unconditional love, the unqualified acceptance, and the assurance that we have been given just as much time as we need to live the life to which we are called.

Amen.