I felt both moved and convicted by this video of Haitians singing their praises to Jesus just two days following the earthquake. They are singing:
“Everything is already fine (x2)
Since Jesus is seated on the throne,
Everything is already fine (x3)”
Text: John 2:1-11
Sarah and I didn’t run out of wine at our wedding.
We were careful not to let that happen.
Our families were responsible, prepared, organized.
And there was enough of everything:
full plates, clinking glasses, laughter,
speeches, kisses, mothers’ happy tears,
flowers, friends, and family.
A tall white candle sat at the center of our table
which sat in the center of all tables.
Everything was in place as everything was planned.
When the time was right,
our maid of honor and best men took the microphone.
They made their jokes, they gave their wishes, they offered their blessings,
then we raised our goblets,
and to our lips, we brought . . sweet sparkling grape juice.
This is the drink that Mennonites and Quakers prefer
when they prefer to pretend to drink wine.
There was enough of everything, and there was no wine.
Everything was in place as everything was planned. Keep reading →
Text: Isaiah 60:1-6; Matthew 2:1-12
I got my finger on the trigger
But I don’t know who to trust
When I look into your eyes
There’s just devils and dust
We’re a long, long way from home, Bobbie
Home’s a long, long way from us
I feel a dirty wind blowing
Devils and dust
I got God on my side
I’m just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear’s a powerful thing
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It’ll take your God filled soul
And fill it with devils and dust
–Bruce Springsteen, from Devils and Dust
I’d venture to guess that’s the first time Bruce Springsteen has played Springdale Mennonite Church. I’ve heard that this particular song was written as a commentary on what has happened in our country since the terrorist attacks in 2001, including the wars we have fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. But this is not an anti-war, anti-government song, at least in the sense that it doesn’t take the vantage point of someone who is critiquing the decisions of others. It’s deeper than that. It’s personal, introspective.
“I got God on my side. I’m just trying to survive, but what if the things you do to survive kills the things you love? Fear’s a powerful thing. It can turn your heart black, you can trust. It’ll take your God-filled soul, and fill it with devils and dust.” Keep reading →
In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, grace and peace to you.
This morning, our scripture comes from the book of Malachi, chapter 3, verses 1-7. But before we zoom in on those verses, let’s take a step back so that we can get the wide angle, a panoramic view.
The Old Testament in our Bibles is split up into three major sections, the books of the Law, the Writings, and the Prophets. In our Bibles, Malachi is the last book of the last section, the Prophets. And because of that, Malachi is also the last book of the Old Testament. You turn the page on Malachi, and you get gospel. You get this: “This is an account of the genealogy of Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of David, the Son of Abraham.” (Matthew 1:1) There is a reason why Malachi is at the end. It’s because Matthew’s book begins with the one whom God had promised through Malachi and the other prophets.
In our Bibles, Malachi may be the last mile marker to Jesus, but let me tell you, it’s a biblical colonoscopy. It’s short, necessary for our health, but it’s not comfortable, it’s not pleasant, and it probes in places we’d rather not explore. Keep reading →
In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, grace and peace to you.
As you know, today is the first Sunday of Advent. Advent is a time of intentional . . . waiting, anticipating, yearning . . . for the next word, for a coming event, for an expected surprise.
Intentional waiting seems so strange. How many of us went to WalMart or Kmart or Target on Black Friday at 5 a.m. — not for the deals but for the quality time that we could spend in check-out lines sandwiched between tired toddlers with runny noses sitting on packed shopping carts begging for candy? Or how many of us listened to the traffic reports or used GPS over Thanksgiving so that we could choose the travel routes with guaranteed traffic delays? Or how many of us go to doctor’s offices an hour early, just so that we can spend more time in the rooms specifically reserved for waiting? We don’t do those things, at least if we’re sane. We don’t like to wait. Waiting is bad, to be avoided, we think. If given the choice, we will never choose to wait.
But that’s exactly why Advent is important. This is the time of year that the church sets aside to practice . . . waiting. Advent waiting is pregnant waiting. It takes humility. That’s because waiting acknowledges that our time, our calendars, our hopes, our lives are not ultimately in our control. We wait for Jesus, the one who has come for us, who dwells with us, who has promised to return to us.
Our Worship Commission has chosen as our Advent Theme, “Coming to Jesus”, and in these weeks we will explore Isaiah’s prophecy of a new king who claims many titles: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. In our wait, we learn to identify, to welcome, and to follow the One who comes to dwell with us. But, of course, the whole idea of waiting is to acknowledge that our celebration does not begin with our coming to Jesus. It begins with Jesus’ coming to us. Through God’s Spirit, may these weeks of Advent be a time when we come closer to the God who, in Jesus, has chosen to draw close to us . . . while we wait. Keep reading →
Text: 1 Corinthians 10:1-17
“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
When I was very young, my family lived in a tall yellow house in rural Ohio. It seemed like our backyard was carved out from the acres of fields that my uncle farmed. I remember our backyard as an endless meadow of green grass where I played baseball, caught butterflies, escaped bees, and chased down Frisbees, barefoot, with my neighbor Clint and my cousins Brad and Wendy.
But memory and reality don’t always play nice. When I happen to drive past that house today, my mind tries to reject what my eyes see: a house now in disrepair . . . with a modestly-sized backyard, at best.
On the edge of our property, in between a field and our lawn, there was a wild space, untouched by either plow or mower. It was where the tall weeds grew, untamed and unruly, tangled up with each other. When I was very young, before our family moved away, my parents’ punishment of choice was to send their disobedient children to the wild space to cut down thistles. This was for felonies, not misdemeanors — for lies, for punches, for backtalk, for out-of-control tantrums. My two older brothers remember this vividly. It’s fuzzier for me, but I too remember shamefully doing battle with those pricking and poking monsters looming on the perimeter. Keep reading →
Text: Exodus 16:1-8, 13-15, 31-36
Two weeks ago, we began reflecting on the Lord’s Prayer. This week, we are looking at a part of the Lord’s Prayer that, for a long time, I kind of stumbled over – at least when I truly thought what I was praying: “Give us this day our daily bread.”
I am thankful to God for my food, but I know that I have bread in the pantry, in the freezer, and if not, then there are whole grocery store aisles full of bread that I can buy. I imagine that would be true for most of us here. But, of course, that’s not true for everyone.
I want you to imagine that the people who have gathered here this morning represent the entire world’s population. I’ve invited 23 people to stand up. That’s because, today, one in six people in the world went to bed hungry last night. One in six people woke up this morning not knowing if they would have enough food to fill this cup. One in six is chronically hungry, right now. One in six. Every six seconds a child dies, hungry. These people standing up represent over one billion people who could pray for their daily bread not knowing when or if they will eat it. And the world hunger rates are climbing.[1]
I want you to keep standing just a second. While these people, one in six, go to bed hungry each night, wake up hungry each morning, and are hungry right now, nearly two out of three American adults are overweight or obese, right now. And the obesity rate is climbing. If trends continue the way they have been, the number of overweight or obese Americans will be nearly nine out of ten in twenty years, 86 percent.[2] (You can sit down) Keep reading →
Text: Matthew 26:36-46
In the garden, alone, you can hear the whispers . . . if you listen:
“You must act or be acted upon.”
“You must assert your will or lose your will.”
“Make history or be history.”
“In this world, you are either a player or a victim.”
“It’s your choice.”
“It’s your destiny.”
“‘Be all that you can be’ or ‘be less than what you could have been.’”
In the garden, those are your choices, you’re told. It’s one or the other. And the questioner, the tempter, waits for your response. What will you choose?
I don’t think it’s an accident that Jesus winds up in a garden, alone, on the night of his arrest. The way the Bible tells it, all of history seems to come full circle between two gardens, the Garden of Eden and the Garden of Gethsemane. In the garden, Jesus faces the same whispers presenting the same choices offering the same fates to Adam and Eve before him. It’s one or the other, he’s told. And the questioner, the tempter, waits for his response. What will he choose? Keep reading →
Text: Ezekiel 36:20-32; Matthew 6:9
“Fish cough.” Did you know that? It’s true, because the bottom of this Snapple cap says so. Fish, they cough. It’s settled. Now you know.
“The average speed of a house fly is 4.5 miles per hour.” Yeah, I’d say that’s seems about right.
“Cats can hear ultrasound.” And that’s why Patches isn’t allowed in the hospital.
“Caller ID is illegal in California.” The crank caller lobby must be strong in the Golden State.
“A ball of glass will bounce higher than a ball of rubber.” Don’t believe it? Read the cap and weep.
During our long road trip out west last summer, I drank several bottles of Snapple ice tea along the way, and there are “Real Facts” printed underneath the caps. We saved the bottles to recycle them, but I kept the caps. Just in case. They have random bits of information that make you go, “hmm . . . I did not know that.” “Okay, so what’s the point,” you ask?
I understand the question. Although these facts may be true, and I have no reason to believe they aren’t, what good is this information? I mean, what is the point? Yes, fish cough, but you can’t put NyQuil in the fish tank. These facts deserve to go out with the recycling.
In order for something to have real meaning to us, in order for something to transform the way we think, to change the way we act, it must be internalized and expressed. It can’t be kept at a distance, random, separate and alone. Keep reading →
[A meditation at the memorial service for my grandma, Irene Schloneger; Beech Mennonite Church (Louisville, Ohio) ; May 1, 2009]
I was happy when I saw how I’ve been identified in the order of service printed in the bulletins: “Mark Schloneger, Grandson.” That’s because I struggled with knowing what to say, what to say about Grandma, what to say to you, until I stopped trying to be anything more than that: Mark Schloneger, Grandson. When I prepared this message, I felt less like an adult, less like a father of two soon-to-be-three children, less like a husband, less like a pastor, than I felt like a young boy grasping for his grandma. Keep reading →
