Questions My Kids Ask

Article for Green Lake Church Gazette

August 2014

Occasionally I have the honor of conversation with people young enough to be my children. I meet these young people inside and outside the church. They ask hard questions, good questions.

Why would a good God—who knew the future and was perfectly free—create a world in which most people would be lost? Did God deliberately decide that the loss of most humanity was an acceptable price to pay to acquire the kind of world he wanted for himself?

Did God create rainbows to encourage our faith and fossils to test our faith?

How can a good God (who is omnipotent, omniscient, and ubiquitous) be reconciled with suffering which is visible, palpable and randomly distributed?

Since most religions claim we are right and all those others are wrong, why should the claims of any religion be taken seriously? How can we prove the Bible is true? How can we prove the Bible is the best (or only) source of information about God?

Would a good God really condemn to eternal hell fire people whose primary “crime” was an incomplete or incorrect opinion about Jesus?

Why should I reject science, which has demonstrably increased longevity, in favor of religion which promises eternal life (but offers no proof)?

Some of the young people asking these questions call themselves atheists. Others call themselves Christian. Whatever label they apply to themselves, the questions are significant. All these questions evince a deep regard for justice and truth. Young people ask these questions because of they care about goodness. Their questions are an expression of their active moral compasses, their lively sense of conscience. So, they deserve our respect.

Why would a good God—who knew the future and was perfectly free—create a world in which most people would be lost? Did God deliberately decide that the loss of most humanity was an acceptable price to pay to acquire the kind of world he wanted for himself?

I grew up hearing preachers quote three statements by Ellen White, the Adventist prophet, that implied more than ninety-five percent of humanity would burn in the lake of fire. Similarly gloomy opinions can be found across Christianity. When I googled “How many will go to hell?” The first piece I pulled up was titled, “Billions of People Are Going to Hell.” The author figured that at least ninety-nine percent of humanity would be burned in hell. Other sites offered similarly depressing assessments. This is not the universal conclusion of Christian preachers, but it is not rare.

As a teenager, I unhesitatingly believed what I heard about the difficulty of being saved. Getting into heaven was certainly harder than getting into Harvard (current acceptance rate >5%). I resolved to be part of that tiny remnant of good-enough people. I cultivated a devotional life. I rigorously observed Adventist rules regarding snacking, movies, caffeine, slang, flesh foods, mustard, fiction, smoking, alcohol and drugs. I am happy for the discipline and structure of that childhood religion. However, I emphatically reject its gloomy picture of God and humanity. Is it really possible that God created a system which he knew would be a disastrous failure for most of humanity? No! Not if God is good.

If I knew I carried a gene for a severe disorder that would doom ninety-five percent of my progeny, I would not have had children. You would probably make the same decision. And we are not more tenderhearted than God. When our children ask, “Would a good God accept the damnation of most of his children as an acceptable price for acquiring the world he wanted?” we know the answer is NO! We don't have to do fancy exegesis. We don't have to know Hebrew and Greek. We don't have to argue the merits of varying translations. The answer to that question is NO! When our children ask this question, we should commend them for seeing clearly.

Did God create rainbows to encourage our faith and fossils to test our faith?

Nature is not a book of tricks. Rainbows really are caused by the interplay of raindrops and sunlight. We can remember the words of Genesis and find reassurance of God's beneficence in the splendor of the rainbow, but we don't imagine that rainbows are a magic show. Fossils really the result of natural processes. They are not a tricky test given by the great teacher in the sky to see who is willing to ignore the evidence available to their senses. The God who created rainbows and inspired the Bible prophets is the same God who was present at the creation of the fossils. Physics and chemistry may seem to be more accessible to our understanding, and less controversial than geology, but the rocks don't lie. We cannot expect our kids to believe in God and God's Book and disbelieve God's rocks.

How can a good God (who is omnipotent, omniscient, and ubiquitous) be reconciled with suffering which is visible, palpable and randomly distributed?

Across the centuries Christians have offered various explanations of suffering. Adventists have given special attention to a narrative explanation called “The Great Controversy.” These explanations can be helpful, but every explanation asks us to skip lightly over huge imponderables. How do we calculate the weight of pain? Until we have lived long in that gray space where praying for the release of death is easier than asking for healing we ought to speak very humbly and quietly in our attempts to make good sense of suffering. I think our children will have greater respect for what we do say if we acknowledge there are some questions beyond any possibility of answer in this life.

Since most religions claim we are right and all those others are wrong, why should the claims of any religion be taken seriously? How can we prove the Bible is true? How can we prove the Bible is the best (or only) source of information about God?

Many Christians devote a lot of energy to insisting that our way is the only right way to speak of God. We would do better to invite people to do taste tests. Come and experience God with us. Experience for yourself the value of our religion. If someone tries our religion and finds it useless, why would we keep insisting it is the perfect religion for them. On the other hand, if we persuaded a person intellectually that our religion was the best and they never actually lived it, what would be the value of our persuasive effort? Winning arguments is difficult. In the realm of spirituality, winning is probably pointless. Instead, let's invite people into the sweetness of our life with God. Encourage them to experience God for themselves. Let's offer our testimony about what we believe and how religion works for us. If this is not attractive, there is little to be gained from argument.

The New Testament offers many anecdotes illustrating the power of direct experience: Jesus' first disciples (John 1:46), Pentecost (Acts 2), Cornelius' household (Acts 10), the Blind Man of John 9. When we invite people to make direct experiments in spirituality we are in line with the New Testament. Trying to establish a theoretical basis for the superiority and uniqueness of Christianity is misplaced effort. Rather, let's exhibit its attractiveness and invite people to test its effectiveness. If the Bible is the living Word of God, we don't need to argue the point, we can simply invite people to read it for themselves. Their experience will be far more persuasive than any words we can offer.

Would a good God really condemn to eternal hell fire people whose primary “crime” was an incomplete or incorrect opinion about Jesus?

No. God is concerned with justice more than with ritual or linguistic precision. Certainly there are texts in the Bible that could be cited in support of a very narrow view. People can be saved only if they meet certain criteria—faith, works, compassionate care for the needy, keeping the commandments. Fortunately, there are also passages that speak of the openness of God to all humanity. There are formulas for salvation in the Bible. Yes, of course. These Bible formulas are not to be construed as constraining God—as though God himself could not operate outside a simple formula he gave for our edification. Rather these Bible formula are best understood as aids to humans for cultivating spiritual and moral life.

Why should I reject science, which has demonstrably increased longevity, in favor of religion which promises eternal life (but offers no proof)?

This question offers an open door for exploring the complementary value of both religion and science. It appropriately presumes the value of life. But how do we know life is better than non-life? Science cannot even speak to that question. Scientists are humans, of course. They have human values and valuing life is a fundamental human value. Science provides tools for furthering life and for ending life, for easing pain and causing pain. But science itself offers no language or taxonomic categories for valuing life over non-life. When we talk of the value of life we have moved into the realm of religion and spirituality or at least into esthetics. When we ask how can we extend life and ease suffering, most of the time we will find our answers in the tools and insights of science, but when we ask why should we extend life and ease suffering, our answers will have the ring of religion. Appreciation of life will lead us to respect both science and religion. Neither on its own is sufficient for responding to the wonder of life.

When we give proper respect to the questions asked by our children, we are likely to gain for ourselves clearer insights into God. Together with our children we may discover better ways of speaking of God and better ways of honoring the incredible gift of life. We will learn to work together not only to extend life, but to enrich it.  

Worship

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

Sabbath, July 26, 2014

Texts

Exodus 20:1-6. A conservative translation.

Revelation 4:1-11 (the entire chapter)

Synopsis

In worship we affirm and celebrate an astounding hope: God will win. Peace, well-being and happiness will triumph. This is incredible! We are not blind or unfeeling. We see tragedy and injustice. We weep at the hurt. Sometimes, we get angry at God for the mess in God's world. Then we come to worship and join the saints across the millennia and God, too, in dreaming of better things. In worship, we rekindle our hope that ultimately peace will flow like a mighty river. Beauty and goodness will be as common as beach sand and rain. In worship we savor this unbelievable truth, allowing its sweet influence to shape our souls and fuel our own participation in the purpose of God.

The first Friday night of my freshman year at Southern Adventist University I was sitting in the university church. The place was full. You could feel the electricity of a thousand, maybe 1500 students, alive with dreams and ambitions, full of confidence they could master the knowledge and skills necessary to change the world and build careers. For many of the students, all this earthy expectation was connected deeply with God. We believed God had plans for our lives.

I had my own dreams. I was going to be a doctor doing research on the unique physiological challenges divers faced when they spent a long time working at great depth. Or I was going to be a minister who help people bridge the chasm between the ordinary life and God. My dreams of making discoveries in medicine were connected to the stories of the greats of medical history—Pasteur, Fleming and Salk and Sabin. My dreams of ministerial greatness were fueled by the stories of Fernando Stahl, the Adventist missionary and social revolutionary who improved life for the indigenous people of Peru, David Livingstone, the missionary/adventurer/explorer in Africa, and Martin Luther, the Protestant reformer who broke the stranglehold of the medieval Catholic Church on the minds and souls of people in Europe.

Doctor or preacher, I would join a stream of noble humanity. My work—whether furthering knowledge of physiology or helping people experience God—would become part of this grand work of God through humanity.

Sitting there in church at the very beginning of my college life, it was easy to dream these dreams.

Then the organ began the introduction for the opening hymn for the evening worship service. Full volume. Pounding bass. A thousand college students stood and sang the words:

1. For all the saints, who from their labors rest,

who thee by faith before the world confessed,

thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

2. Thou wast their rock, their fortress, and their might;

thou Lord, their captain in the well-fought fight;

thou in the darkness drear, their one true light.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

3. O may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,

fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,

and win with them the victor's crown of gold.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

4. This verse was not in the Adventist Hymnal

O blest communion, fellowship divine!

We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;

yet all are one in thee, for all are thine.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

5. And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,

steals on the ear the distant triumph song,

and hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

6. From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,

through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,

singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost:

Alleluia, Alleluia!

As we sang I felt myself to be truly part of that countless host. I, we, the thousand students in that university church, the Adventist doctors and nurses working as missionaries in Africa, the Albert Schweitzers and Mother Teresa's of the world, the Mohammad Unases and Paul Farmers of the world—we were all part of the grand stream of humans participating in the Kingdom of Heaven. We were all part of the work of God in the world.

Singing that hymn that evening was perhaps the closest I've ever come to Pentecostal ecstasy in worship. I felt my connection with good people, God's people, all across the ages. All the doctors who have worked to ease suffering and enhance health, all preachers who have inspired people to hope and to pursue wisdom and goodness.

As I've gotten older my understanding of the value of human work has expanded. Caregivers and IT professionals, plumbers and fashion designers, biologists and electrical engineers, chemists and hair stylists, moms and dads, aunts and uncles and grandparents—all us are indispensable agents of the Kingdom of Heaven. Each of us touches life, enriches life in a unique way.

And when we gather in worship, we affirm that our work, our lives, are part of the grand dream of God of a world that will one day be free of pain and sorrow, a world where peace will flow like a river and beauty and goodness will be as common place as sand and rain. In worship we dream together of the day when the happiness of God and the happiness of humanity flow mingled in a mighty, unbroken current.

A couple of weeks ago I was visiting with a young man. We were talking about God and faith. We explored questions about who's in and who's out when it comes to God's eternal plans.

I told him I no longer worried about damnation. If I, as a father, could not imagine damning my children for their imperfections and failures, how could I imagine that the heavenly Father would damn his children because they had failed to grasp just the right idea about faith or had failed to transcend some deeply-rooted character flaw.

“But now, you're just doing anthropomorphism.” My young friend protested. “You're ascribing human characteristics to God.”

“Guilty as charged.” I said. “And that is what Christianity does. It takes the grandest, most beautiful attributes of humanity and says God is something like that, only better.”

God is like the best father who ever existed. Only better.

God is like the best mother who ever existed. Only better.

God is like the most skillful, compassionate psychiatrist who ever help people find sanity. Only better.

God is a brilliant engineer, only smarter.

God is a wise governor, only wiser.

A generous philanthropist, only more generous.

A musician, only capable of stirring our souls even more deeply.

We believe that at the heart of the universe there is goodness, wisdom and compassion. But it's unbelievable. So we come here to worship and in worship rekindle our faith.

Some of us come with a buoyant, confident faith. When we sing here, we are singing the same song our heart sings all week. Others of us come barely believing anything good. Our hearts are crushed with what we read in the news or what has happened to our friends. Our own lives are so full of pain, we vacillate between wishing for healing and praying for death.

We come here and worship.

We turn our attention once more to the incredible Christian affirmations of God. We celebrate the richest, sweetest, grandest affirmations about God imaginable. We let go of our arguments because they merely touch the front of our heads. In worship we believe with our gut, with our bodies.

We believe God would rather die than live without us.

The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the poor in spirit. That is the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to me. And to my friends whose mental illness whips them from sanity to insanity, from appropriate behavior to violence, from speaking blessings to spouting curses. Their situation is hopeless. Maybe medication can dampen the swings. Maybe hospitalization can contain their illness. In worship, we say theirs is the kingdom of heaven. God has good plans for them. And God is able to accomplish those plans. In worship we hope again, even for hopeless people.

And we know that our hope is the hope shared across two thousand years of Christian hoping.

And our theology, our religious theory, takes us back another two thousand years to Abraham, so that in our worship we are keeping company with the hoping saints across 4000 years of time. Adventist theology pushes our worship connection back another 2000 years to Adam and Eve. In our worship we are joining 6000 years of human hope and confidence in God.

The world is full of pain and tragedy. Yes. We are not blind. We are not unfeeling. We weep at the hurt. We get angry with God for the mess in God's world. Then we come to here to worship and join the saints across the millennia and join God, too, in dreaming of better things. We sing of hope and promise and the triumph of love.

Here, we insist God is committed to the ultimate triumph of shalom—peace, well-being, happiness. And God will finally get his way.

Here, in worship, we insist that justice ultimately looks like reconciliation and redemption.

These things are unbelievable. When we pay attention to the news, sometimes listening to the stories of our friends, this all seems like foolishness. For some of us, our own personal pain threatens to drown out this happy song. Our experience whispers hopelessness.

So we come together in worship to sing again about hope. We sing together about the triumph of the community of God—our community. We come together again and again, stubbornly fanning the flame of hope.

Yes, the struggle is fierce and long. Sometimes our arms grow weak, our hearts become faint. So we come again to worship. We join the song. Our hearts are made brave again and our arms strong as we sing Alleluia.

The Bible

Sermon manuscript for Green Lake Church

Sabbath, July 12, 2014.

Texts:

Psalm 1:1-3 Blessed is the person who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the LORD, and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither— whatever they do prospers. NIV

Psalm 119:11. I have hidden your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you.

Psalm 119:105. Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path. NLT

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted there by the devil. For forty days and forty nights he fasted and became very hungry. During that time the devilfn came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become loaves of bread.” But Jesus told him, “No! The Scriptures say, ‘People do not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ Matthew 4:1-4, NLT

Synopsis:

Words matter. They can connect us with one another and with God. They are tools for expanding knowledge, expressing affection, and offering encouragement. The words of the Bible are the foundation for our understanding of God. Over the past couple hundred years, the leading voices of justice and peace have found in the words of the Bible their most powerful rhetoric. If we are participating in God 's mission in this world, the Bible offers wisdom and encouragement. Further, Bible reading feeds us personally, connecting us with God and giving us hope and guidance.

Sermon:

On First Avenue across the street from the United Nations there is a curving granite wall. The words carved into granite read:

“They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”

For six decades these words from the Bible have voiced the highest, noblest dreams of the best people working in the buildings across the street.

Sabbath, March 4, 1865, Abraham Lincoln delivered his Second Inaugural Address. The nation was wracked by a horrific civil war. It was a dark time. After a brief introduction and summary statement about the situation, Mr. Lincoln said,

Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. . . . Each looked for an easier triumph, . . . Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offenses; for it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

Mr. Lincoln's vision of peace did not come from his surroundings. It did not come from newspapers or his associates. He looked away from the world that was obvious and immediate to the unseen world portrayed in the words of the Bible. A world of justice and peace. A world free from malice and bitter memories. A world where people made plowshares instead of swords. A world where the brightest minds and strongest arms created beauty instead of war.

Mr. Lincoln's magnanimous words of peace and reconciliation flowed from the language of the Bible.

Over the past two hundred years, repeatedly, those who have dreamed of a better world have found inspiration for their highest rhetoric in the words of the Bible.

On August 28, 1963, Martin Luther King, Jr. stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on the Mall in Washington, D.C. In front of him were 250,000 people, hungry for hope, angry at oppression and injustice, impatient for change.

Near the end of Dr. King's speech comes the famous lines:

I have a dream

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together." [Isaiah 40:4-5]

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

In the face of centuries of slavery—often justified by Bible-toting preachers—Dr. King dared to dream of a better world. It was a dream inspired by and articulated by the words of the Bible.

Astonishingly, the world did change. Yes, we have a long way to go to reach God's dream voiced by the Prophet Isaiah. Still, the words of God's dream as voiced by Dr. King moved the nation. And still move us. Because his words, echoing the Bible gave voice to the dreams of God.

This is the power of the Bible.

Today, we honored our graduates, students who have passed milestones in their education. As a denomination and as a congregation, we give special honor to education. We value intellectual culture and accomplishment. We take great delight in our bright children and do everything we can to encourage them to excel, to achieve.

As we celebrate the accomplishments of our kids today, I want to also challenge us to make sure that all our children—our little kids, our high school students, our college and grad students—are aware of the value of educating their minds and hearts through familiarity with the words of the Bible.

I hope that our students will win Nobel prizes in chemistry and physics. I hope they will earn world fame as mathematicians and physicians, as musicians and visual artists. Yes. Yes.

And I hope that all this accomplishment will fueled by their own dreams to be part of God's work of turning swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. I hope they will join in God's mission of creating hope and healing, beauty and happiness, holiness and strength.

Young people, God has great dreams for you.

Parents, do you hope your children will join in God's mission of justice and peace? Teach them the words of the Bible.

In the home I grew up in, every night before we went to bed, each of us kids recited the memory verse of the week—the verse featured in the Sabbath School lesson. To this day, those words run in my brain. When we get into the second half of life it is far more difficult to memorize. So I encourage you to give your children the gift of good words in their memory bank. Wouldn't it be wonderful if one of our children was the next Lincoln or King? When you're working with God to make the world better, you need every possible advantage, and a deep familiarity with the words of the Bible is a major advantage.

Students, school is a busy time. Don't let it own your life, at least not all of it. Spend a few minutes every day, either before you start your day or at the end of the day. Take a few minutes to read and consider some words from the Bible. This practice will set you up for a greatness and success beyond the reach of mere money, intellectual prowess, academic credentials or beauty.

[Here are a couple of stories that will not be included in my verbal presentation at church

Some years ago, a guy named started attending the North Hill Church. For awhile, every time he showed up, he was stoned. He later explained to me that going to church was so scary that the only way he could deal with the anxiety was to smoke a joint or two before he headed out on Sabbath morning. Aaron was a meth addict. He had been living on the streets for most of 15 years, using. Meth. Heroin. And other stuff.

He had been in and out of rehab several times. It didn't work.

At some point after he had been attending church for awhile, he went to rehab again. And finally it took. He managed to stay off the drugs. He faithfully attended NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meetings. He read his Bible daily.

A year or two later, looking back at those crucial months when he finally managed to leave the drugs behind, he identified his daily Bible reading as one of the key elements of his sobriety. I remember him telling me of conversations with people who were skeptical of the Bible. His response was fairly simple: Do you know any treatment for meth that works? Reading the Bible helped me.

Aaron went to college, finished a degree in geology and eventually moved into the work force. Aaron is not a fundamentalist. He does not believe in 6000 years, but if you asked him for secrets to living well, he will confidently point you to the Bible. It saved his life. He's confident it will bless your life as well.

Brian was an atheist. He had grown up Christian, then lost his faith when his dad died in spite of his fervent childhood prayers. In college he had tried Buddhism, but when I met him he was a backsliding Buddhist. When we met for breakfast, he was embarrassed to realize I was a veggie and there he was eating bacon. We met occasionally to talk religion and life. I never contradicted his beliefs. When he spoke of values and ideals that lined up with something Jesus had said, I would just point out the parallel. After awhile he said, “You know, maybe I should read the gospels for myself. Just to check them out.”

I laughed and warned him. “Be careful. The gospel is a dangerous book.”

I was right.

After reading through the gospels, Brian found his faith rekindled. He found again a sense of connection with God. He found a living hope. That's the power of the Bible.]

Early in his ministry, Jesus visited his home town of Nazareth and on Sabbath preached in the synagogue where he had grown up.

He read the grand words of Isaiah 61.

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is upon me,

for the LORD has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted

and to proclaim that captives will be released

and prisoners will be freed.

He has sent me to tell those who mourn

that the time of the LORD’s favor has come

Then he told his audience. Now is the time. This is what I am doing!

It is still time. This is what we are called to do. We are partners with God in working to bring hope and healing and joy to the world. Let's fill our own minds and the minds of our children and friends with glorious visions voiced by the Bible prophets. Then let us go forth to make them real.

Bread

Preliminary manuscript for the sermon for Green Lake Church of Seventh-day Adventists

For July 5, 2014

Exodus 18:8-12, KJV or NKJV or RSV

Exodus 24:9-12

Matthew 26:26-30

Worship events for the day: Baptism and Communion.

Toward the end of the day this past Monday, I was starved. I had left Washington at nine p.m. Sunday night with my daughter, Bonnie, headed for Wyoming. She drove all night. I took over about five in the morning, and we continued our drive to Laramie, Wyoming. I didn't eat breakfast because I knew a full stomach would make me even more drowsy. Same for lunch. We nibbled along the way, some chips. A few cookies, nothing substantial. Finally, we arrived in Laramie, found Bonnie's new apartment and unloaded the truck. Bonnie and her roommate were discussing the placement of the couch when I announced with some intensity. I've got to go find some real food!

I invited the roommate to join us. She declined and said she was going to finish her workout which our arrival had interrupted. Bonnie and I headed out to the truck. We were just getting ready to pull out when the roommate ran out and said, “I've changed my mind. I'd like to come.” She climbed in and guided us to a great little vegetarian restaurant.

Eventually the food arrived. After the waiter had loaded our table, I said, “It's my custom to say a blessing over my food. Are you okay with that?” The roommate nodded. I bowed my head and said, “Lord God in Heaven. Thank you for this good food and nice place. Blessed this food and our conversation. In the name of Jesus, Amen.”

Then we ate. The girls both got salads which seemed woefully lacking in substance to me. I had something the menu called a black bean tamale pie. And we talked. About music and career dreams and grand philosophies of life. This was the first time Bonnie and the roommate had met. There was the carefulness of strangers getting acquainted. There was the ease of conversation over dinner.

For Bonnie and me, it was a rehearsal of family tradition. When I ordered the black bean tamale pie, Bonnie told her it roommate, “I could have predicted that. Growing up, he served us beans and rice all the time.” And I knew that she was recalling our Friday night parties—haystacks (for those not in the cognoscenti this means a taco salad—beans, salad, corn chips) and friends and music.

That black bean tamale pie did not just fill the hole in my stomach, it recalled thousands of shared meals, shared times of laughter and conversation. The roommate couldn't know it, but I suspect our dinner this past Monday evening was her initiation into the extended McLarty clan. She's part of our family now. She protested when I paid the check, but I dismissed her protest, saying, “I'm in the habit of adopting my kids' friends.”

This is the power of shared food. For Bonnie and me it was another enactment of our shared life. For the roommate, an initiation. A first step into a circle that stretches half the world around.

That dinner was a perfect picture of what we do in worship. We gather here to celebrate again and again and again, our shared life. And our worship is the perfect occasion for welcoming others—newly adopted daughters and sons of God. Newly met sisters and brothers.

Shared life costs something. It's worth the cost, of course. Still, it's smart to acknowledge it costs. Adopting my daughter's roommate cost me a few dollars on Monday night. Adopting each other here as brothers and sisters, parents and children costs us money and time and heart. And these precious connections are worth every bit of the expense.

Today, we baptized Jennifer Buyco. When I buried her under the water and lifted her again, my hands did not belong to me alone. They were your hands, too, and the hands of God. I was acting for all of us. In obedience to Jesus, we buried her old identity rooted in heredity, family of origin, education, ethnicity and even gender and raised her into a new identity—she is now, officially, part of the royalty of heaven.

The Book of Revelation paints an astonishing picture of Jesus' plan for his people—all of them, men and women, every race and nationality—are destined to sit on the throne of heaven and share in the rule of God.

When I raised Jennifer out of the water today, I was raising her as royalty in the kingdom of heaven. She and we share a family claim to the throne of heaven.

In a few minutes, we will share “The Lord's Supper” together.

This ritual flows from the supper Jesus shared with his inner circle on the last night before he was executed. Because of the intense emotions of that evening, we remember that single meal. I tend to think of it as a single event, an “only-once” happening. We remember the words Jesus spoke to his friends gathered around the table. He took a loaf of bread, broke it and handed it around, saying, “This is my body which is broken for you.” Then he passed the wine cup and said, “Drink from it all of you, this is my blood.”

We call it the Last Supper because it was “the last one.” Yes.

It was also a repetition. It was one in a three-year long series of shared suppers. Jesus and his disciples did life together. They ate together. When we take communion we are joining that tradition. We are joining that family. As members of the fellowship of Jesus, all of our meals are opportunities for reminding ourselves again of our privileges and responsibilities.

When we say a blessing over our food, we are renewing our participation in the heavenly family. Under the light of a blessing, a piece of toast and a glass of orange juice becomes communion. Dare I say it, even coffee and a donut, as meager nutrition as that is, becomes a point of connection with the heavenly family, if we are open to receive it.

Rituals teach us the hidden meaning of ordinary life. Communion teaches us that every meal carries the potential to connect us with heaven. Baptism teaches us that every passing through the waters—every morning shower—marks our entrance in a new life blessed by God.

Rituals reveal hidden meanings in the routines of our ordinary life. Baptism teaches us that every passing through the waters—every morning shower—marks our entrance in a new life blessed by God. Communion teaches us that every meal carries the potential to connect us with God and the family of God. Our worship here on Sabbath mornings, teaches us that God is present on earth, in Seattle, in music, in words, in art, and in the faces of ordinary people. Every worship service whispers to us, that we—you and I, ordinary disciples of Jesus—are the face of God for one another and the world.

So let us gather again at the table of the Lord and renew our connection with God and one another.