reallifepastor

So, you’re the Creator-of-all-that-is and things are going okay, but not exactly how you’d planned them.  You created in love hoping your creatures would continue living out that love.  Some did…but a lot didn’t.  Something was missing.  There was a depth to love that hadn’t yet been achieved by your creations….so you decide to go down and shake things up a bit, to show them the way, to draw forth from them the love you always hoped they’d show.

As creator-of-all-that-is, how will you choose to come?  Will you come as a political leader?  A prophet?  A preacher?  A teacher?

All of those options seem good, don’t they?  But our creator?  Our creator chose to come as a baby.  I wonder why?    (Scripture readings.)

Why did God choose to come dwell among us in the form of a baby?  Perhaps it’s because there is nothing on earth that will lead people to change for the better more quickly than a baby.  I’m not a parent myself, but I’ve heard lots of parents talk about how everything changed the minute they learned they were going to have a baby.  And watching those parents raise their children?  Sometimes the parents seem to grow as much as their offspring.

Take the young woman Mary.  Unmarried, young—she learns she’s pregnant.  Her first response is consternation:  “How can this be?”  Her second response is fear.  Her third response:  acceptance.  “Let it be with me according to God’s will.”  Her fourth response:  She seeks help from her cousin Elizabeth.  Pregnancy isn’t something to do alone!  Her fifth response:  She sings a song of gratitude—and hope, hope that—because of her child—the world will become a better place.

In the few weeks between finding out she’s pregnant and her visit with Elizabeth, Mary grows from being just another young woman to gaining a sense that how she parents the child growing inside her could make a difference, a big difference to the world.

Hebrew school wouldn’t have done that.  Becoming ruler of Judea wouldn’t have done that.  Preaching to the masses wouldn’t have done it.  The thing that helped Mary mature from just-a-person to one who nurtured the love of God in the world was….a baby.

Babies change us.  They bring out the good in us.  They give us hope.  They keep us focused on something outside ourselves.  They remind us of our need for community… somebody’s got to change all those diapers!  Babies help us grow up.

As we reflect on Mary’s maternity-induced maturity, I’d like to share three other stories that demonstrate just how much love babies and children call forth from us.

The first story is about a grandfather.  Author Nora Gallagher writes about a friend who invited her to lunch one day.  He “told me… [that] his high school-age daughter had gotten pregnant and insisted on having the baby.  She had, in fact, just had the little boy a few days before he and I had lunch.  My friend and his wife had tried very hard in the early days of her pregnancy to get her to give up the child for adoption, but the girl refused.  I sat there,” Gallagher writes, “listening to the story.  All kinds of words of advice rose in my head…

“When he had finished telling the story, I was about to wade in, when he picked up his wallet and pulled out a picture of an incredibly cute baby boy.  ‘Here he is,’ he said, and a huge smile spread all over his face.  ‘We’ve never had a boy in the family before.’

“I looked at the photo and I looked at his face,” says Gallagher.  “What came to me then felt as close to grace as I have ever felt.  We were sitting in a museum café, and I felt as if the room were slowed down to God speed.  All of the words of advice evaporated from my mind.  I don’t remember exactly what I said, but what I realized was– it’s all about love.  It’s about increasing our capacity to love.  It was as clear as a bell.  Whatever happened, my friend loved that baby, and it looked to me as though, if he kept loving that baby, his life would be better, and so would be that baby’s life, and the baby’s mother’s life and so forth and so on.” (Sacred Meal, 127-8)

“It’s all about love.  It’s about increasing our capacity to love.”  Author Bruce Feiler’s capacity to love increased when he was diagnosed with cancer.  With a seven inch tumor in his left femur, the initial prognosis wasn’t great.  Bruce’s immediate thoughts turned to his 3 year old twins, Tybee and Eden.  What would his girls do if he were to die?

His desire for his girls to grow up with a dad presence in their lives—a presence of him—led Bruce to create what he calls “the Council of Dads.”  He asked six friends to serve on the Council, each convenanting to nurture his girls in father-like ways should cancer claim Bruce’s life.  One person was a friend from early childhood.  His agent knows Bruce as a writer.  Another friend lost his own father when he was 3; he could help the girls when they missed their dad.  His college roommate would help the girls know about that part of their dad’s life.

In his letter to each of the men, Bruce asked:  “Will you help be their dad?  Will you listen in on them?  Will you answer their questions?  Will you take them out to lunch every now and then?  Will you go to a soccer game if you’re in town?  Will you watch their ballet moves for the umpteenth time?  When they get older, will you indulge them in a new pair of shoes?  Or buy them a new cell phone, or some other gadget I can’t even imagine right now?  Will you give them advice?  Will you be tough as I would be?  Will you help them out in a crisis?  And as time passes, will you invite them to a family gathering on occasion?  Will you introduce them to somebody who might help one of their dreams come true?  Will you tell them what I would be thinking?  Will you tell them how proud I would be?”

“Naturally, I hope that I will fully recover from my illness and that we will all be able to enjoy many family occasions together in the future.  But I would like my Council to continue no matter the outcome.  I would like my daughters to know the world through all of you.  I would like Tybee and Eden to know me though this group.  I would like them to know themselves through their Council of Dads.”  (The Council of Dads, ch.1) Isn’t that remarkable?  Out of love for his daughters, Bruce gathered his friends together into a community of caring.  His love for his children spilled over to those around him and will continue to do so well into the future.  His love for those babies did that.

But the baby Jesus came for everyone, not just for the parents and grandparents among us.  Do babies speak love to those of us who aren’t their parents or grandparents?

The third person I want to tell you about is a parent and  grandparent, but in this story, he acts simply as a kind neighbor.  Friday morning a week ago, Gene Rosen had just fed his cats and was leaving the house to drive to a local diner for breakfast.  As he opened the door, he noticed a small group of children “sitting in a neat semicircle at the end of his driveway.   A school bus driver was standing over them, telling them things would be all right.  It was about 9:30.  The children, he discovered, had just run from their school to escape a gunman.

“We can’t go back to school,” one little boy told Rosen. “Our teacher is dead, Mrs. Soto.  We don’t have a teacher.”  That’s when Rosen’s grandfatherly instincts kicked in.  The 69-year-old retired psychologist took the four girls and two boys into his home, and over the next few hours gave them toys, listened to their stories and called their frantic parents.”

Through the ordeal, the children clung to the stuffed animals, drank the juice offered by Rosen, and said what they could about what had happened to them.

Then “one little boy brought them all a moment of levity.   ‘This little boy turns around, composes himself, and,” Rosen reports, “he looks at me…and says, `Just saying, your house is very small,’” Rosen said.  “I wanted to tell him, `I love you. I love you.’” http://www.theblaze.com/stories/our-teacher-is-dead-sandy-hook-neighbor-details-taking-in-6-kids-who-escaped-shooting/

So, you’re the creator of all that is and you want desperately for your creatures to live more fully into their loving potential.  You decide to go live among them show them the way.  How will you do that?

There’s only one way, isn’t there?  You’ll come as a baby.

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  ©  2012

Luke 1:26-55

Sometimes what we’re doing in worship just doesn’t mesh with what’s going on in the world….like celebrating Joy Sunday when the nation is grieving the loss of 20 school children and six people who cared for them….like “singing glory to the newborn king” when funeral masses soon will be sung for children.  How are we supposed worship today when such a horrific thing happened on Friday?  Surely God would give us a pass on Joy Sunday this year.

Because I believe that God stands with us wherever we are on life’s journey, I do believe God would give us a pass on celebrating joy today.  And if you’re having trouble finding joy this morning, that’s okay.  God stands with you wherever you are.

As I’ve watched and read news reports, though, as I’ve tried to wrap my heart around what’s been happening in Connecticut since Friday….I’m wondering if celebrating joy might be just the thing to do.  After all, God didn’t come into the world to bring joy to the joyful….God came into the world to heal the brokenhearted and to guide them–in their own time–to a place of wholeness and, yes, deep joy.

And so today, as we celebrate the child who is to come, as we delight in the children who are here in our midst, yes, even as our hearts break for a grieving community in Connecticut, I invite us all to keep joy alive, to hold the joy for those who might not feel it for a very long time.  As we sing, as we listen, as we celebrate, let us remember that God came to dwell with us that we might have life, that we might be whole, that we might–eventually–feel joy.

Amen.

The Gospel of Luke is the original Broadway Gospel.  It’s like every time something big happens, the characters in the story break into song.  When the pregnant Mary goes to her cousin Elizabeth’s house, she breaks into song.  (#119)  “My soul gives glory to my God…”  When the angels appear to the shepherds in the field, they break into song.  (#125)  “Gloria!  In Excelsis Deo.  Gloria!”   When Mary and Joseph present the infant Jesus at the temple, the elder Simeon breaks into song.  (#807):  “Holy One, now let your servant go in peace; your word has been fulfilled.”  When John the Baptist enters the scene proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, Luke can’t help it—he breaks into song.  (Handel):  The voice of one crying in the wilderness:  (Godspell):  Prepare ye the way of the Lord, In Luke, even the sermons are sung (Ness Beck):  Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low…

There is lots of singing in the Gospel of Luke.  But perhaps no song is sweeter than the one sung by Zechariah.  Zechariah was a priest of the temple.  He and his wife Elizabeth were very faithful.  Despite their faithfulness, though, they had not been blessed with children.

Once a year, a priest was selected to go into the temple to make a special offering for the people.  This particular year, Zechariah had been chosen.  While he’s in the temple, an angel appears to Zechariah, tells him that he and his wife Elizabeth are going to have a baby.  They’ll name him John.  Zechariah’s response to this joyful news?  “How will I know this is so?  For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.”  And the survey said, BLAST!  Wrong answer.  Zechariah’s punishment for not believing the angel’s good news?  “You will become mute until these things occur.”

Struck mute.  Man, that had to be hard for Zechariah.  Maybe not so much for Elizabeth… but for Zechariah, really hard.  Which had to make his joy at the birth of his son that much more joyous.  No wonder he breaks into song!  Let’s sing that song together.  (#110)

Now bless the God of Israel, who comes in love and power,

Who raises from the royal house deliverance in this hour.

Through holy prophets God has sworn to free us from alarm,

To save us from the heavy hand of all who wish us harm.

Remembering the covenant, God rescues us from fear,

That we might serve in holiness and peace from year to year;

And you, my child, shall go before to preach, to prophesy,

That all may know the tender love, the grace of God most high.

In tender mercy, God will send the dayspring from on high,

Our rising sun, the light of life for those who sit and sigh,

God comes to guide our way to peace, that death shall reign no more.

Sing praises to the Holy One!  O worship and adore.

If this number were being staged, Zechariah would be holding little John, singing these words as a lullaby.  “And you, my child, shall go before to preach, to prophesy, that all may know the tender love, the grace of God most high.”  Here’s how the last verse of Zechariah’s song reads in Luke 1:  “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”  To guide our feet into the way of peace.  Then we’re told that “the child grew and became strong in spirit…”  Growing up hearing his dad sing these kinds of songs to him, to pray these kinds of things for him?  It’s no wonder John became “strong in spirit.”

But peaceful?  I’m not so sure John got that message.  We see in Luke 3 that John did fulfill his dad’s vision of his “going out to preach and prophesy.”  But peace?  Here’s John’s first sermon:  “You brood of vipers!  Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?  Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.  Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.’”  “Guide our feet into the way of peace?”  I think John was still trying figure out the peace part.

How about you?  Do you have the peace thing figured out?  Do you pray for God to guide your feet into the way of peace?  Do you know when you’re actually walking in that way?

It took her about 15 years to figure it out, but a woman who took the name Peace Pilgrim, let her steps be guided by peace for 28 years.  Born into a comfortable middle class family, Peace was a typical teenager and young woman.  She loved fashion, was looking for the good things in life.  But on a walk through the woods one evening, a voice came to her.  She began to question her choices in life.  She didn’t know exactly what it meant, but she began listening to this voice….and slowly, bit by bit, her life changed.

It began with helping her neighbors, staying with a sick friend during that friend’s convalescence, assisting troubled youth.  During her years of discernment, she began to feel the burden of ownership…so she started getting rid of her possessions.  In a palpable way, the strong connection between inner peace and world peace began to crystallize.

Finally, Peace knew what she was being called to do:  she would walk across the country spreading the message of peace….she would walk, in fact, until world peace had been achieved.

She began, of all places, at the Rose Bowl Parade, New Year’s Day 1953.  In a simple tunic that announced who she was in stenciled letters—Peace Pilgrim—Peace began her pilgrimage for peace.  Here’s the explanation of her pilgrimage Peace gave to people along her journey of seven trips of walking across the United States:

“You may see her walking through your town or along the highway—a silver-haired woman dressed in navy blue slacks and shirt, and a short tunic with pockets all around the bottom in which she carries her only worldly possessions.  It says, “PEACE PILGRIM” in white letters on the front of the tunic and “25,000 Miles On Foot for Peace” on the back.  She has walked the 25,000 miles.  However, she continues to walk, for her vow is, “I shall remain a wanderer until mankind has learned the way of peace, walking until I am given shelter and fasting until I am given food.”  She walks without a penny in her pockets and she is not affiliated with any organization.  She walks as a prayer and as a chance to inspire others to pray and work with her for peace.”  (vii)

Peace walked until she died—ironically in a car accident.  (http://www.peacepilgrim.org/)

I can already hear the pushback I’m going to get in Sunday School.  “Are you saying we should sell everything we have and start walking around the country for peace?”  Not at all.  Peace Pilgrim was very clear from the beginning that embarking on a peace pilgrimage was her calling, a calling it took her 15 years to discern.  A big part of her mission was to invite others to think about what their calling to peace might be.

What do you imagine your calling to peace might be?  I was a little hard on John the Baptist earlier, with all that brood of vipers stuff.  The truth is, when his listeners began pushing back, he gave them some good ideas about how to create peace:  “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”  Luke tells us that “even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘Teacher, what should we do?  He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’  Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’  He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’”

The thing that’s interesting about these last two suggestions is that they’re made to people in specific professions, tax collectors and soldiers.  John tailors his responses to those people based on where they are in life….because that’s where the way of peace begins, isn’t it?  Not necessarily on some grand pilgrimage around the country, but in the small actions of our everyday lives.  It’s good to hear about people like John the Baptist and Peace Pilgrim, people who were able to commit every aspect of their lives to the way of peace.

But it’s equally important to think about our own lives.  Are we doing all we can for peace?  Is there some way—in the lives we’re living right now—that we might take just a tiny step toward peace?  Let that be our prayer as we sing together hymn #497, “Guide My Feet.”

*********

Luke 1:68-79

Another great story from the Bible.  A woman is barren, prays for a child, then—at last!– conceives.  In response, she offers a beautiful song of thanksgiving to God.  A great story!  Hope-filled!  Miraculous!  Inspiring!  Annoying.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m happy for Hannah.  She really wanted a baby.  And she prayed until she got one.  Hannah has a lot to teach us about faith in God….and about offering thanks for answered prayer.

But what about the rest of us?  …those who pray for children and never get them…those who pray for jobs that never materialize….those who pray for healing but seem to end up attending funerals anyway?    What does Hannah’s story say to those of us whose prayers have not been answered or have been answered with a firm no?  Hannah sang her song of thanksgiving because her prayer had been answered.  How do you offer thanks when your prayers aren’t answered?  How do you give thanks when it’s the last thing on earth you feel like doing?

In December of 2007, John Kralik found himself in a pretty thankless place.  His law firm was losing money and its lease, and was being sued; John was going through an acrimonious divorce and was in danger of losing custody of his young daughter; his adult sons were growing distant; he was completely out of money; he was living in a tiny, stuffy apartment with little furniture; and the woman he’d been seeing had broken up with him.

The morning after his girlfriend broke up with him, John’s friend, Bob, met him for breakfast at a chain restaurant whose inexpensive prices were still too pricey for John.  Of that morning, John writes:  “The man Bob saw across the chipped Formica table was 52 years old, forty pounds overweight, pasty, and tired, with a terrified sadness in his eyes.  After 28 years of work as a lawyer, I had little more to show than I’d had when I started—and the little I did have was in jeopardy.”  (K 86)

New Year’s Day 2008, John traveled to an area outside of Pasadena for a hike he originally had planned to take with his girlfriend.  As often happens when we get away from everything and out into nature, John gained some clarity about his life—pretty much, he saw just how far into the toilet it was.  His inner voice intoned a painful mantra:  “Loser, loser, loser.”

After he’d been walking a while, slipping even more deeply into hopelessness, John heard another voice.  It said:  “Until you learn to be grateful for the things you have, you will not receive the things you want.”  John couldn’t explain the voice or the words it said… (K 208) ….but the words stayed with him….

…and led him to a memory of his beloved grandfather.  When John was a boy, his grandfather had given him a silver dollar.  “He promised that if (John) wrote him a letter thanking him for this silver dollar, he would send another one.”  John wrote the thank you letter and received another silver dollar.  He never got around to writing the second thank you letter… and thus received no more silver dollars from his grandfather.

As he hiked back to his car that New Year’s Day, John’s thoughts strayed to mundane offices matters—like all the envelopes he’d just bought for his law firm that were now useless because they contained  the address of the office from which the firm had just been evicted.

As his thoughts about the invitation to be thankful, his grandfather’s silver dollar lesson, and the unusable envelopes coalesced, John formulated a plan:  He would “try to find one person to thank each day of the year.”  In that way, he would practice gratitude and use up all those envelopes.  “If my grandfather was right,” John writes, “I would have a lot more of what I was thankful for by the end of the year.  If the voice was right, I would begin to get the things that I wanted.  And if not, well, I had little more to lose.”  (K245)

John’s book, 365 Thank Yous:  The Year a Simple Act of Daily Gratitude Changed My Life, recounts his year of writing thank you notes.  He begins with a thank you note to one of his sons for a Christmas gift.  He thanks clients who pay their bills on time.  He even thanks his ex-wife once.  One day, uncertain of who to thank, he writes a note to the barista at Starbucks.

This might sound hokey, but the discipline of practicing gratitude really does change John’s life for the better.  He reunites with his girlfriend; he works through the divorce settlement with his wife amicably; his business gets back on its feet; he gets healthier.

In January 2009, he asks his friend Bob—the one who’d paid for breakfast a year before– if he had noticed any differences in John after 365 thank you notes.  ‘A lot,’ Bob said.  ‘You are a different and much better person.”  (K 2186)

Could expressing gratitude really make that big a difference?  Could the simple act of thanking others really change your life for the better?  Thirteenth century Christian mystic, Meister Eckhart, once said:  “If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is “thank you,” that would suffice.”  Would it really?  Could it possibly?

Let’s try something.  Take a minute, get comfortable where you are…and reflect on your life.  Is anything stressing you out?  Is something not going well?  What is the one thing you pray for over and over?  Or maybe it’s the one thing you’ve stopped praying for because you’ve given up hope that you’ll ever receive it.

Now, even as you keep this stressful, hopeless-seeming thing in front of you, think about the things you can give thanks for—I’ll suggest a few; they might or might not apply to you:  home, family, church family, health….For what are you thankful this morning?  It can be as simple as having running water or a functioning car or an eggshell that cracked the right way this morning….anything….just find something for which you can offer thanks…

Now, in the quiet of your heart, say thank you.  You can say it to God if you want.  Or if you’re angry with God or aren’t sure God’s around or exists or cares, say it to the universe or to yourself, or your hymnal, or the chair, or the air…just say the words, “Thank you.”

I doubt any of us have been miraculously changed in the last two minutes.  Feeling grateful when life is difficult takes time.  John Kralik’s story demonstrates just how hard and slow the process can be.  But maybe, just maybe, what we’ve done this morning can be a start.  As John suggests:  It couldn’t hurt, right?

In the final stage of her life, my great Aunt Inez was well into dementia.  The last time I saw her, there was only one phrase left in her vocabulary:  Thank you.  Now, she didn’t mean to express gratitude every time she said the words “Thank you.”  You could tell more what she was really trying to say by interpreting her tone of voice.  “Thank you.  Thank you!  Thank you?”

Of all the phrases for her brain to latch on to as her life was winding down, of all the things she’d said in her 90 years of living, I found it fascinating that those two words—“Thank you”–were the only ones left.  Even as she neared death, confined to bed, devoid of mental faculties, completely dependent on others for everything—still, the words her brain chose to be her last were “Thank you.”

Is life hard right now?  Is little going right?  Are you slipping into hopelessness?  If so, perhaps you might make Aunt Inez’s last words your first:  Thank you.  If all the other prayers are going unanswered, maybe you might try shifting to the one sufficient prayer suggested by Meister Eckhart:  Thank you.  Even if it’s the last thing on earth you feel like doing, maybe it would be helpful this morning to say Thank you.  It couldn’t hurt, right?

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2012

I Samuel 1:4-20

I Samuel 2:1-10

(Set out “little church.”)  Every time we have an Inquirer’s Class, someone asks about the little church.  “What’s up with that box?” they ask.  Here’s the story that’s come to me.

Many years ago a Confirmation class visited an African American church.  As in many African American churches, the offering was received not by passing tiny offering plates to people comfortably seated in pews, but by wheeling in a large offering box and inviting people to “walk the aisle” and make their contributions in front of God and everybody.

The large offering box made an impression on the confirmands.  They didn’t think we should receive regular offerings in a big box on wheels; but they did think it might be nice to have a box for special offerings.  One of the girls in the class made the box we have come to call “the little church.”  Since that time the little church has received numerous contributions celebrating everything from birthdays and anniversaries to PhD completions and weight losses.

Can you imagine giving offerings every week in a big box down front?  With everyone looking?  I’m not sure that would work here in this congregation.  And now that we have electronic contributions… some weeks the box would be nearly empty.

But there was no such thing as electronic giving in Jesus’ day.  In his day, they set up several boxes in the temple so people could make their contributions to various ministries of the temple—for temple personnel, for upkeep of the temple and grounds, for ministries to the poor, to get a new fire hydrant, should the need arise…those kinds of things.

One day Jesus was teaching in the temple.  This day’s lesson was about the scribes, the religious leaders, who, in Jesus’ opinion, took a little too much pride in their position.  They liked “to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the market-places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!”  (Mk 12:38-39)

After a while, Jesus took a break from his teaching.  “He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury.  Many rich people put in large sums.”  How did he know they put in large sums?  We don’t know for sure.  Maybe the coins made a loud sound when they were dropped into the box.  Or maybe the offerer slowly counted out each coin as he placed it in the box.  ‘One, two, three….I have given 3,000 shekels to God today!”  Or maybe when the credit card ran through, a loud “Ka-ching!” sounded over the loudspeaker.  However it was communicated, the size of the gift was obvious.

Then, just as the large donor was accepting (imagined) accolades from those present, “a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.”  Though Jesus is on break, maybe sipping his co-cola, he can’t pass up this teachable moment.

“He calls his disciples and says to them, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

None are recorded, but I wonder how the disciples responded to Jesus’ lesson?  I’ll bet one or two pushed back immediately—“Jesus, there’s no way that widow put in more than everyone else.  Did you see the size of the gift the person before her offered?  Okay.  I see what you’re saying about the woman giving a larger percentage of her income than the man who gave the larger sum, but let’s not confuse accounting with spirituality!”

Another disciple might really have gotten the spiritual point about the widow’s gift.  “Wow.  I see what you mean, Jesus!  Even though his gift was large, the rich guy didn’t really have to think about how much to give.  Because he has so much, even a large gift in terms of dollars and cents wouldn’t make much of a dent in his wallet.  But that widow….she had to think long and hard.  I mean, she brought everything she had—two coins.  No one would have faulted her for giving one coin and keeping the other for herself.  It wouldn’t have bought much, but she would at least have had something.  But she chose to give it all, to make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of the community.

“That makes me think about my own giving.  I don’t have a lot to give, but I certainly have more than two small coins.  Would I give my all for the common good?  Am I willing to give sacrificially to God’s work in the world?  I might need to think about that.”

As the first disciple searches for a calculator to show Jesus his mathematical error…and as the second disciple pulls out paper and pencil to recalculate his faith commitment to the Temple for the year, a third disciple is trying to find the connection between the earlier lesson Jesus was teaching about the scribes doing things for show and this widow giving everything she has.  What was it Jesus had said in his earlier lesson?  “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!”  Oh, yes.  This was it–“They devour widows’ houses….”

“I wonder what it means to ‘devour widows’ houses’?  It’s true that widows without family are left in the care of the temple, which means the scribes become their landlords.  So, maybe the scribes ‘devour widows’ houses’ by charging too much rent to people who have no means of support, people who are the poorest of the poor in the community.

“So, Jesus says, ‘They devour widows’ houses,’ then boom! one of those widows comes to give an offering.  Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?  Why does she give everything she has?  Is it because the unjust practices of the scribes have robbed her of everything else?  Is it because religious law requires her to give something to the temple regardless of her circumstances?  Does she give everything she has because she has no choice?  Is Jesus calling the whole offering system into question because it allows, maybe even encourages the powerful to exploit the powerless?  The well-off have a choice about whether or not they’ll give sacrificially; the widow doesn’t have a choice at all.  Is that just?”

As the third disciple goes to make an appointment with his temple representative to see how he might work to change the unjust laws of the system, a fourth disciple pulls out his checkbook…..not to write a check, but to look at the check register to see where he spends his money, to look at how he spends his money, to see if there is some way in which he himself is contributing to the widow’s poverty.  It’s easy to see how the temple authorities exploit the poor….but this disciple begins to ask the really hard question:  “Am I exploiting the poor, too, without even realizing it?”

What is our relationship with the poor?  Do we have some responsibility for the devoured houses of widows?  Is there some way in which we participate in that devouring without realizing it?  Do we  contribute to the poverty of others?  I don’t think there’s a person in this room who does not want to act and actually does act the poor into well-being.  We serve lunch at MUST; we’re looking at doing a Habitat build; we’re always collecting things for MUST and for Wellspring; there are other exciting opportunities on the horizon as well.  I’ve never had to encourage or challenge anyone in this congregation to engage in service for others.

The thing I wonder, though, is if—as important as all those ministries we’re involved with are—I wonder sometimes if we’re only scratching the surface of very deeply seated problems.  “Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement—an organization active in social justice ministries—once wrote, ‘Whatever I had read as a child about the saints had thrilled me.  I could see the nobility of giving one’s life for the sick, the maimed, the leper.  But there was another question in my mind.  Why was so much done in remedying the evil instead of avoiding it in the first place?  Where were the saints to try to change the social order, not just to minister to the slaves, but to do away with slavery?”  (Common Prayer, 533)

Brazilian Bishop, Dom Helder Camara commented even more bluntly on the difficulty of asking hard questions about poverty.  He said, “When I fed the poor they called me a saint.  When I asked why they were poor they called me a Communist.”  (Common Prayer, 136)

So, which first century disciple was right?  Whose example should we follow in the 21^st century?  I’m thinking we would do well to follow all of them.  The disciple with the calculator was right on the money, so to speak—doing ministry, doing church does take real dollars.  Can’t deny that!   The disciple refiguring his faith commitment to the church, contemplating not so much the size of his wallet as the condition of his heart– his is also a good example to follow.  We do well to ask if our offerings stretch us, if the gift is sacrificial enough that we really feel like we’re giving something.

The third disciple—making an appointment to meet with her representative to look at unjust laws—that’s a crucial thing to do if you want to go below the surface and ask hard questions about why poverty exists and do something about it.  And though it’s the hardest example of all to follow, we also will do well to ask how we ourselves might be contributing to poverty.

Following any and all of these fictional first century disciples would be good discipleship for us 21^st century disciples.  But now I’m starting to wonder if there might have been a fifth disciple there at the temple that day, one who had a different response, one we might also follow….I wonder if anyone went up to the widow, asked her name, invited her to lunch, and got to know her as a person?

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh  Buchanan  ©  2012

Mark 12:38-44

Did you see the Paralympian’s Halloween costume?   Josh Sundquist lost his leg to cancer when he was 10 years old.  Despite the loss, he began skiing at age 13 and represented the US in the 2006 Paralympic Games.  His costume this week?  He dressed up as the leg lamp from “The Christmas Story” movie.   (www.joshsundquist.com)

Pretty creative way to deal with the loss of a leg, huh?  Would Josh have preferred not to have lost his leg?  I’m guessing yes.  Did he grieve the loss of his leg?  I’m sure he did.  But on the far side of his loss, Josh is finding a life that is full and even a wee bit funny.

That kind of adapting– finding a new way of being on the far side of loss—takes a lot of creativity.  In fact, some of the most creative people I know are people who are working through grief.  Getting used to living alone when you’ve been married for 40, 50, 60 years?  That takes creativity.  Finding new pastimes after decades of sharing your free time with a spouse?  That takes creativity.  Buying all the birthday and Christmas gifts—by yourself;  attending all the grandchildren’s events—alone;  setting the dinner table—for one…  Actors, painters, and poets are creative.  But they can’t hold a candle to the creativity of people who are constructing new lives on the far side of loss.

People like Ruth in today’s Scripture story.  When famine hits Bethlehem—ironically, a name that means “house of bread”—Elimelek, his wife Naomi, and their boys, Mahlon and Chilion, have to go where there’s food.  They end up in Moab.  Not long after they arrive, Elimelek dies.  In a culture where women were completely dependent for their livelihood on men, that would have been catastrophic for Naomi…. if she hadn’t had sons…But she did have sons!  Whew!

Soon after Elimelek’s death, those sons marry…Moabite women named Ruth and Orpah.  I’m sure their mama would have preferred her boys to marry some nice Jewish girls, but what are you gonna do when there aren’t any around?

So, this widow, her sons, and her foreign daughters-in-law settle into a life that’s definitely a Plan B.  No one planned for Elimelek to die so soon.  And Naomi had never planned for her sons to marry foreign women…but with a little creativity, they settle into Plan B and live that way for a decade or so…

…until Mahlon and Chilion die, too.   Now Naomi is left without her husband or her sons—which means she’s now fresh out of luck.  No male relatives equals no means of support.  No means of support equals… well, you get the picture.  Time now for Plan C.

In the midst of her devastating losses, though, Naomi finally gets some good news:  the famine is over in Bethlehem.  She and her daughters-in-law pack up to leave.

When they come to a fork in the road, Naomi tells Ruth and Orpah to go back to their people, that she’ll continue on alone.  In response to Naomi’s statement, Ruth and Orpah start crying.  They weep.  They wail.  They swear allegiance to their mother-in-law.  They promise to accompany her all the way back to Bethlehem.  It’s quite a scene!  But Naomi’s level-headedness kicks in.  “Even if I could get pregnant tonight—which I certainly cannot,” she says, “would you wait around until my sons had grown up to marry them?  No, my daughters.  Go.  Return home to your families.  Find security for yourselves.”

Which Orpah does.  But Ruth?  Ruth won’t hear of it; she clings to Naomi.  Again, Naomi urges Ruth to follow Orpah and return to her people.

This is when Ruth gets really creative, perhaps as creative as any widow has ever gotten.  In familiar words often used at weddings, Ruth declares:  “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”  (I often wonder if knowing these words originally were spoken by a daughter-in-law to her mother-in-law, couples would be so eager to use them in their weddings.)

As plans go, Ruth’s stinks.  Two widowed, childless women?  Who was going to take care of them?  Who was going to support them?  Rather than going home where some male relative might have given her a good home and certain security, Ruth chooses instead to attach herself to her aging widowed foreign mother-in-law and go to a far place where she knows no one, a place where she will have no standing, much less any security.  Not a good plan at all…and certainly not one any clear-thinking person in her culture would have dreamed up.  But in her grief, Ruth got creative.  She began to imagine a completely new way of life, one she’d never conceived—or wanted.

Ultimately, though, it was a way that led to life.  I wish I could tell you all the creative things Ruth and Naomi did to make this new life happen.  Unfortunately, it’s R-rated stuff, not appropriate for Sunday morning.

Let’s just say those two widows get mighty creative.  As a result, a kinsman of Naomi’s —Boaz– marries Ruth and together they have a child, a boy named Obed.  So, a story that looked like it might end before it began for those two widowed women, ends with security for both of them in the persons of Boaz and little Obed.  And guess who descended from Obed?  Ever heard of King David?  He was Obed’s grandson.  And guess who descended from David?  Does the “little town of Bethlehem” ring a bell?  Yes, Jesus descended from David.  See?  Great things come of the creativity of two widows working out their lives after devastating losses.

Today is All Saints Sunday.  It’s the day we remember our saints, the people who have died but who remain very close to us.  For some of us, the loss still feels fresh, like it happened yesterday.  I think sometimes grief is so hard because we feel like we have to forget the person who has died.  It’s almost like we have to continue living as if the other person never existed.

The gift of All Saints is the invitation to remember our loved ones who have died…and not only to remember them, but also to draw strength from having known them.  The teller of today’s Scripture story isn’t much interested in the men, at least not before Boaz enters the scene.  The other men—Elimelek, Mahlon, and Chilion—are dead and gone by the end of the opening credits.

…but something bonded Naomi and her daughters-in-law.   Something created a strong tie among those women.  I’m thinking it must have had something to do with their men.  Though the men quickly exit the narrative, I have to think they were still present in some way in the widows they left behind.  Maybe part of what helped the women get creative with their post-loss lives, was drawing strength from their marriages.  Maybe they had been so changed by, so formed by their relationships with their husbands, they had become stronger women.   And maybe that strength helped them figure out how to live beyond their losses.

Whose loss are you grieving today?  Who are you missing?  Who helped formed you and encouraged you to become the person you are?  Who—though they are gone—is still giving you strength?  Who—though they have passed—continues to help you live your life creatively?

One of the first things you learn when you start hanging out with nuns, is just how important the cemetery is to them.  Want to take a walk?  “Let’s go to the cemetery.”  Need a place to talk?  “Let’s go to the cemetery.”  Need to get some perspective on life?  “Get thee to the cemetery.”

At first I thought this obsession with the cemetery unseemly… and morbid.  The longer I hang out with the sisters, though–and the more trips I take to the cemetery myself–the more I find it to be an energizing trip.  All those sisters…each one living a faithful life…and now at least two of them having impacted my own faith journey, Srs. Mildred and Joan Marie, who died this past year…  Now I find strength and courage from visiting the cemetery.  Those sisters are gone from this world, but their memory continues to strengthen the living…including me.

When I shared some of my thoughts about All Saints and about missing Srs. Joan Marie and Mildred with some of my Women Touched by Grace friends this week, my friend Nancy wrote back:  “One of the things I will always remember about last week at OLG was seeing Sr. Mary Sylvester (She’s 100 years old) come out of the monastery for her daily walk.  She moves so quickly, and she headed right to the cemetery.  She goes there every day to pray and talk with old friends.”

That is the gift of All Saints—gathering together with our own cloud of witnesses and talking with those old friends.  In my mind and heart today, I plan to visit the graves of those who’ve gone before me–Granny Jett and Pa Joe…my first boss, Principal Carolyn Mayes…my Old Testament professor Page Kelley…to name a few–People who have guided me on my life’s journey and my faith journey.  People whom I have loved and who I know loved me.  As I visit these residents in my own “cloud of witnesses,” I will draw strength and courage and joy. And I will offer deep and resonant Thanks!

Whose graves will you visit today?

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  ©  2012

One of the first things you learn when you start hanging out with nuns, is just how important the cemetery is to them.  Want to take a walk?  “Let’s go to the cemetery.”  Need a place to talk?  “Let’s go to the cemetery.”  Need get a little perspective on life?  “Get thee to the cemetery.”

At first, I thought this obsession with the cemetery a little unseemly…and kind of morbid.  The longer I hang out with the sisters, though–and the more trips I take to the cemetery myself–the more I find it to be an energizing trip.  All those sisters…each one living a faithful life…and now at least two of them having impacted my own faith journey…I find strength and courage from visiting them.  And when I remember that for all the sisters whose graves I can see, there is no more suffering, there is no more sadness, there is only complete joy in being with their God…that makes me a little happy, too.

In my mind and heart today, I plan to visit the graves of those who’ve gone before me–Granny Jett and Pa Joe…my first boss, Principal Carolyn Mayes…my Old Testament professor Page Kelley…to name only a few.  People who have guided me on my life’s journey and my faith journey.  People whom I have loved and who I know loved me.  As I visit these residents in my own “cloud of witnesses,” I will draw strength and courage and joy.  And I will offer deep and resonant Thanks!

What a wonderful story!  A blind man, forced to beg because of his disability, hears that Jesus is coming.  He shouts out:  “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  Jesus hears him, calls him, heals him.  “Immediately, the man regains his sight and follows Jesus.”

What fun!

It’s been a couple of years since we had a Blessing of the Animals service at Pilgrimage.  Today we had 24 people and 19 pets join together for this beautiful (and sometimes loud!) celebration.  Sixteen of the 19 were dogs.  The other three were goldfish.  (The dog lover in me had LOTS of fun…I had some explaining to do when I returned home to my cats, Gracie and Dayo this afternoon!)

Our pets are so important to us, aren’t they?  They love us–unconditionally.  They remind us of the basics of life–eating well and cuddling up together or going for a walk or two every day.

At the 8:30 service this morning, we even had a healing ritual for someone’s dog (The dog is having cancer surgery this week.)  There’s something real–and special–about our connections to our pets.  They keep us connected to God’s creation in a way nothing else can.

Thank God for animals!

We’ve heard a lot about Koinonia Farm over the last couple of years.  Koinonia started as an interracial Christian community in Southwest Georgia in the 1940s.  Under the leadership of Clarence Jordan, the community tried as best it could to live out the Sermon on the Mount.

From time to time, people saw what was happening at Koinonia and wanted to join.  One such person arrived one day in an old black jalopy.  A middle aged woman emerged from the car, looked around the place, and told Clarence she wanted to join the community.  “He encouraged her and explained in detail what Koinonia was striving to be, how one must surrender [herself] totally to Christ, including all [her] earthly possessions.  At Koinonia, he said, this is achieved by asking everyone to enter the fellowship in a common condition known as “flat broke.”  At this, her eyebrows jerked upward in alarm, and she cautiously began asking questions.

“Clarence was perplexed.  ‘I couldn’t understand it,’ he said.  ‘As poor as she looked, I was really surprised.  Jesus said it would be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom, but we’d never even had one apply at our place.  She was really quite agitated.’

“Clarence asked her what difficult there would be with relinquishing her possessions.  She had a fair-size difficulty, somewhere between $80,000 and $90,000.  “Clarence swallowed two or three times and then reasserted that she would have to dispose of the money to become a part of Koinonia.  How, she asked?  Give it to the poor, he said, give it to your relatives, throw it over a bridge—but you must enter the fellowship without it.

What about giving it to Koinonia Farm? she asked.  “Clarence grinned, and replied:  ‘No.  If you put that money in here several things would happen.  First of all, we’d quit growing peanuts and start discussing theology.  That wouldn’t be a healthy condition for us.  And in the next place, unless I miss my guess, you are a very lonely person, and you are lonely because you think every friend you ever had is after your money.’  She confirmed that judgment.

“’Well,’ Clarence continued, ‘if you put that money in here, you would think we courted you for your money, that we loved you for your money.  And in the next place, if you put that money in here you would get the idea you were God’s guardian angel, that you endowed the rest of us, and that all of us ought to be grateful to you for your beneficence.’

“She was listening; Clarence pressed his point:  ‘Now for your sake and for our sakes, you get rid of that money and come walk this way with us.’  Tearfully, the woman replied:  ‘I can’t do it.’  She packed her old car and left.  (Lee, Dallas.  Cotton Patch Evidence, 86-7)

I wonder what led that woman to Koinonia.  Loneliness?  A feeling that, despite all her possessions, her life lacked something?   A desire to be part of something bigger than herself?

I wonder if the man in today’s Gospel lesson was feeling some of the same things—lost, lonely, lacking in purpose.  Whatever the reason, he ran up to Jesus, knelt down, and begged:  “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Were you surprised when you heard Jesus’ response?  This man comes up desperately seeking eternal life….You’d think Jesus would applaud the man, say, Hey, let’s step in here to Starbucks and talk about this over a cup of joe.  But, no.  Rather than praise the man for his seeking, Jesus gets snarky.  “Why do you call me good?” he says.  “No one is good—except God alone.”  See?  Snarky.  Why give this man grief for just calling him “good?”

Who knows?  Maybe Jesus was having a bad day; he has a lot of those in the Gospel of Mark.  Or maybe he suspected this man of trying to curry favour.  Running up?  Kneeling down?  Begging?  All those actions were far beneath the wealthy man’s station.  Maybe Jesus quibbles about who is good as a way of cutting through the man’s game:  You’re playing humble, but are you really humble?  Or are you just trying to butter me up to get what you want?

But after the snarky comment, Jesus goes on, sounding appropriately rabbinical again:  “You know the commandments, he says.  “Don’t murder, commit adultery, steal, lie, or cheat; always do your mama and daddy proud.”  “Teacher,” the man says—see?  He’s been listening.  No more “Good Teacher,” just “Teacher….”  “Teacher, all these I have kept since I was a boy.”

To this point, you get the sense that Jesus has been testing the man.  So, you’ve run up, knelt down, called me good.  Whatever.

But when the man says, “Teacher, all these I have kept since I was boy…”  Something about that statement, or maybe it’s the way the man says it…whatever it is, you can almost see Jesus soften.  It’s like he finally gets this man’s desperation.  The man has everything money can buy, everything except the one thing he wants—eternal life, happiness, a sense of wholeness.  He has all the money he could ever need, but still his life is lacking something, something crucial.  “Teacher, all these I have kept since I was a boy.”  And what does Jesus do in response?  He looks at the man, Mark tells us, he looks at the man and loves him…or, as we like to say around here, Jesus looks at the man and wants to act him into well-being.

And here are the loving words Jesus chooses, words he knows will act the man into well-being:  “One thing you lack.  Go, sell everything you have and give it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.  Then come, follow me.”  Jesus doesn’t make this statement to be mean or because he’s a socialist commie or anything like that.  Jesus makes this statement out of love for the man.  He’s seen how desperate the man is for a more fulfilling life.  Having all the material things he wants and needs hasn’t met the man’s spiritual needs.  Being faithful in his religious life hasn’t fulfilled him, either.  Despite everything, the man still lacks something.

Jesus knows what it is…and so, in love, he tells him:  get rid of your possessions.  Why?  Because those things are possessing you.  Get rid of them and follow me.  “At this the man’s face fell,” Mark tells us.  “He went away sad, because he had great wealth.”

Tom Shadyac became a VERY successful film director when he cast newcomer Jim Carey as Ace Ventura.  Subsequent films like Liar, Liar and Bruce, Almighty made Shadyac very rich.  He got so successful, in fact, that he bought a mansion in Beverly   Hills.  “But something happened to me when I bought my first house in Beverly Hills that took an edge off my buzz,” Shadyac says.  “I was standing alone in the foyer after the movers had just left and I was struck with one very clear, very strange feeling—I was no happier.  There I was standing in a house my culture had taught me was a measure of the good life.  And it made me absolutely no happier.”

A few years later, Shadyac wrecked his bike and suffered a concussion.  The effects of the concussion lingered; Tom thought he might die.  That experience gave him perspective.  And it raised two questions for him:  First, What’s wrong with the world?  And, second, What can we do about it?

Being a film director, Shadyac set out to answer the questions by interviewing several wise people for a film he called I Am.  The film’s title comes from a quote by G. K. Chesterton.  The London Times once asked Chesterton to write an essay on what he saw was wrong with the world.  Chesterton wrote back:  “Dear Sirs, I am.  Sincerely, G. K. Chesterton.”

Like Chesterton, Shadyac recognized that, despite his love for the world and his desire to do well, he actually was a part of the world’s problems.  He had bought in—literally—to the idea that more is better, that acquiring is the mark of success and happiness.  What was wrong with the world?  He was.

But what about the second question?  What can we do about what’s wrong with the world?  Here’s how Shadyac answered the question after interviewing others:  We solve the world’s problems by “realizing and acting as if we are all connected, not separated.”

Shadyac’s response to this realization was to sell his estate and most of its furnishings and art.  He started biking to work; he moved into a mobile home community in North Malibu.  He also started teaching at a local university about the things he’d been learning.

Of these changes, Shadyac says:  “There’s an old voice in me that’s saying I’m insane because I’ve left the world’s carrot and I’ve gone a way the world wouldn’t call a successful way to live.  But it feels almost the opposite.”

Strange, huh?  That separating himself from his possessions helped him connect with the world and the people around him?  Or maybe not so strange.  Maybe that’s why Clarence Jordan told the woman in the black jalopy to get rid of her wealth before joining Kononia—because he knew that doing so would contribute to her well-being.  And maybe that’s why Jesus told the rich man to sell all he had—because he knew that was the one thing that would act the man into well-being.  Maybe….

I do have one lingering question about today’s gospel lesson.  Mark tells us “the man’s face fell” when Jesus told him to sell his possessions and give the proceeds to the poor.  Here’s my question:  Did the man stay sad?  Did he hear Jesus’ words then go back to his life as if he’d never heard them?  Or did he grieve for a while, then—still desperate for eternal life— did he go sell all his possessions, give the money to the poor, look Jesus up, and start following him?

Changing your life—especially when it relates to your lifestyle—that’s hard.  And it does involving grieving.  We work hard for the nicer things in life.  Giving them up?  That’s hard.

But there can be life beyond the grieving.  Once we adjust to our new way of living—that is, sharing what we have with others for the sake of God’s kin-dom—on the far side of mourning can be an unbridle joy –and freedom — we have ever known.

So, I guess all of this brings us to one last question:  Where are you in relation to your material possessions?  Are you clinging to them or are they clinging to you?  Are you holding them lightly or tightly?  Are your possessions possessing you?  As you think about your relationship to your possessions, what do you imagine will act you into well-being?

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan   ©  2012

Mark 10:17-31  (NRSV)  As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”  ¹⁸Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.  ¹⁹You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” ²⁰He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.”  ²¹Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”  ²²When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

²³Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!”  ²⁴And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God!  ²⁵It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”  ²⁶They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?”  ²⁷Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

²⁸Peter began to say to him, “Look, we have left everything and followed you.”  ²⁹Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, ³⁰who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life.  ³¹But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”