Redlands United Church of Christ

Sharon R. Graff

“It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegone …”  So begins the familiar and beloved monologue heard each week on “A Prairie Home Companion” radio show.  I thought of that opening statement as I sat down to compose this week’s meditation about the covenant journey.  For, as any avid listener to Garrison Keillor knows, what follows that droll introduction is rarely quiet!  Mr. Keillor’s normal routine, traversing one tangent after another as he tells a riveting story of life, is far from quiet.  With masterful quality, he mines the depths of a story, an incident, or a theme…bringing us as listeners into the particular details of any imaginary scene with such clarity that it appears in our minds as if it were really happening just as he tells it, with all the colorful characters, all the drama, and all the complicated nuances of small-town life.  “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegone …”  That one phrase, used as it has been for the past 30+ years of radio broadcasts, invites us this morning to be mindful and attentive, with a bit of a sense of humor and the Spirit’s wider perspective, to be mindful about the recent scenes of our own lives, the so-called “moments on the covenant journey” of this past week. 
Here are a few: an oil spill off the coast of Wales and another one in San Francisco Bay; a devastating cyclone in Bangladesh; in the continuing occupation of Iraq: 8 U.S. soldiers and 257 Iraqi men, women, and children dead in just this past week; and closer to home: presidential vetoes of bills that would have provided funding for Head Start, cancer research, and veteran’s health care; a painful staff change here at RUCC; and the passing of long-time member Jim Gray.  “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegone …”  Yeah, right!

What I appreciate about Garrison Keillor’s ironic introduction is that he nudges us to see these individual moments of life with a more penetrating vision, and to hear the messages of Spirit with an ear tuned to grace by focusing deeply on one event at a time.  Rather than being bombarded by the constant barrage of information we must endure on a daily basis, a week such as this one with its emotionally-cataclysmic events offers us a moment of “pause”…a moment to stop the barrage and to sit with one event at most on this journey of faith…to focus our easily-distracted attention on that one scene and in it to discern the Spirit’s movement, the Spirit’s vision, and the Spirit’s message.

In a word, this moment of discernment is one of the many invitations offered us on the journey of faith we know around here as the covenant journey.  Each year, as we prepare to write and offer to God our covenants for the following year, God invites every one of us into this moment, this “pause.”  In the book, Affirming Faith: A Confirmand’s Journal, used by our confirmation class as a guiding text this past year, there is an entry from the Teachings of the Lakota that talks about this holy pause by saying, “Everything as it moves, now and then, here and there, makes pauses.  The bird as it flies stops on one place to make its nest, and in another to rest in its flight.  In the same way, God has paused as well.  The sun, which is so bright and beautiful, is one place where God has paused.  The moon, the stars, the winds; God has been with them, too.  The trees, the animals, are all places where God has stopped, leaving the touch of the Holy in all these things.  We, too, have had God pause in us.  We too have the Holy touch in our being.  Let us now pause ourselves, and listen for the voice of God on our hearts.”

Every year about this time, Redlands UCC takes a pause to listen for the voice of God on each of our hearts…and that pause is called covenanting.  Not only is it a time to take stock of our spiritual paths; it is also a pause to look with penetrating vision and hear with tuned-up ears the vibrant present in which God dwells with us.  This week has been such a week for me, and I wish to become somewhat personal here.  But first a funny story, which was for me another “moment on the covenant journey.”

A few years ago, after a particularly “in your face” kind of theological meditation, one of our members caught me during the fellowship time and said, “ Sharon , I didn’t have any idea that you believed all that…” to which I quickly replied, “Oh, I don’t…!”  He looked baffled, as if he had misheard.  I continued, “Sometimes I preach what I believe and other times, like today, my job is to preach a message that challenges all of us to think about something completely new…”  The look on his face said to me that he wasn’t so sure about a minister who would stand in a pulpit proclaiming things she didn’t herself believe.  I recall that story with fondness, especially today, as I launch into a lesson the Spirit taught me this week, the essence of which I now believe and invite you to believe with me as we move through this unexpected, tender, and difficult season together.  This is a lesson about story, and whose story it is to tell.

The lesson for me began with our confirmation group who met for the final session together at our domehome last Sunday night.  That particular “moment on the covenant journey” always includes lots of information about covenants—from the Bible, from UCC tradition, from RUCC history, and from our own experiences.  I and the youth share stories and ideas, hopes and appreciations about one another as partners on this covenant journey.  Since this particular overnight retreat had moments that were intense and personal, I asked the youth if I had their permission to tell their stories to you today, and they agreed. 

When prompted early in the retreat, they began to tell their story about covenant, using words like: “promise,” “community,” “agreement,” “loving,” “friendships,” “unity,” “agreement with God,” “renewal,” “happiness.”  One youth wrote of covenanting, “you don’t have to do it, but no matter what, you’re welcome to the church.”  These are the words that begin to tell the covenant story these youth have learned from you, from being a part of this vibrant, caring, compassionate, dynamic community of faith known as Redlands UCC.  As they started telling this covenant story, their words came tentatively, like a baby learning to talk a new language.  Or like the tentativeness of the man in today’s gospel reading, whose sight was instantly restored to him. 

Let us take a moment, a pause, and be mindful of his story.  When we meet that unnamed man, he is blind and by his society’s customs, he is relegated to begging by the side of the road for his daily food.  He learns that in the crowd of people kicking up dust in his face is the person Jesus of Nazareth.  He apparently had heard of this itinerant preacher and healer…who of the poor hadn’t?  And, tentatively, hopefully, in this miraculous moment of his covenant journey, the blind man calls out for help.  “Have mercy on me…” he cries.  And Jesus responds by doing what?  By standing still…by pausing…  When the blind man is brought nearer to Jesus, Jesus asks him directly, “What do you want me to do for you?”  Seems a rather unnecessary question, does it not?  The man is blind…in that society, with no universal health care or low-income housing, the man is forced to beg to strangers for all of his personal needs to be met.  Anyone could plainly see that if he had his sight, this obvious and difficult situation would be reversed and all would be well. 

But, in case you haven’t yet noticed, Jesus of Nazareth rarely deals in the obvious.  His preferred realm is more in the ironic, the depths, in the sacred place where Spirit and matter meet in each of us.  So, in that pause, and out of that pause, Jesus asks, not because he needs to know, but because the man needs to state it, “What do you want me to do for you?”  Interesting choice of words that the man uses to respond to Jesus’ question…he states, “Let me see again…”

Much has been written about the blind man’s simple statement, shared in this pause, this moment on his covenant journey.  Was he asking for physical sight?  Probably.  Was he also asking for spiritual insight?  We can only hope.  Was he asking for something he never had or something he could barely remember?  Who knows?  He and Jesus do not enter into a philosophical or medical debate about sight; they simply remain in the holy pause of that moment on the covenant journey.  And in that moment, sight is restored…immediately…  Now whose story is this to tell?  The gospel writers saw it as theirs, and as readers of their work, we might assume that the sight-restored man’s story is also ours to tell.  But is it?  This is the lesson I pondered this week.

As the covenant retreat with our confirmation group continued and deepened, so did their understanding of the covenant journey.  After we had studied some of the biblical passages on covenant, and looked at the reality of the covenant journey at Church of the Savior in Washington, D.C. (the congregation after which RUCC was patterned), I asked the youth to create something that, for them, represented their covenant journey.  And again, since these were their stories of covenant, I asked permission to share them with you today.  This is what they created.

Using clay, several of the young people worked and molded and sculpted it into shapes that symbolized the covenant journey for them.  One youth used a sturdy, bulky lump of dark clay to form a sturdy, bulky heart, which she described as a “heart full of love.”  Another used a bit of bright pink clay to form a delicate, paper-thin heart, which for her, symbolized promise.  Another mixed two colors together, keeping them distinct yet connected; and he shared with us that they represented two hands of different colors, clasped in friendship.  Another formed a rectangle into which he sculpted a cross; yet he was very careful to not cut all the way through to the other side of the clay, for the two-sided creation was open to change he said, just like covenants.  Another youth created a padlock, and made sure to note for us that it was in the open position, so that it could easily connect to others and be connected to others.  What amazing creations these youth offer us this morning!  And you can see them for yourself after worship out in the Gathering Area.

Then there were the covenant cinquain poems that two of the youth chose to compose.  Those of you with a poetry or English background will remember that a cinquain is a five-line poem, in which each line builds on the next in describing a particular thing.  Using words like a sculptor works with clay here is what these two youth wrote about covenanting:

These, too, await your closer look in the Gathering Area this morning.

I share these several creations with our wider congregation because they each represent a sacred moment on the covenant journey, a holy pause in which and through which the Spirit speaks.  Whose stories are these to tell?  Like the Apostle Paul in the reading from 2nd Corinthians, these stories now belong to the community out of which they were born.  And they are ours to tell.  Paul states plainly and directly, “we do not proclaim ourselves…we do not just tell our own story…we proclaim Christ…we tell the story of Christ in our lives, who has brought light to shine out of any shadowy time we experience or can imagine…we tell the story of Christ who shines in each of our hearts and gives to us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God….”  A quiet week in Lake Wobegone, friends?  Not hardly!  Not with so many moments on the covenant journey, so many holy pauses through which Spirit moves. 

So we travel on to Covenant Sunday; this year with some pain and potential conflict in our midst.  Last Sunday I spoke of the essence of this community of faith as being resilient, that loves even in the midst of debate, that often agrees to disagree, that always, always acts in love toward one another.  It is in that spirit that I share with you a final story, this one mine, from which the deepest lesson of the week was taught to me.  Some of you will laugh that the story originates in Tupelo, Mississippi, the birthplace of Elvis Presley. 

Last January, I was traveling back from the New Orleans work trip, and I stopped off in Memphis to visit with our son.  With some extra hours before his plane arrived, I decided to rent a car and drive to Tupelo.  As an Elvis fan, it was a place I had always wanted to see, and I was not disappointed in the least.  The two-room house into which Elvis and his twin brother were born was modest, set near a grove of aspen trees that flexed and swayed in the gentle wind.  The downtown portion of Tupelo itself is just a few blocks long, and while driving around, I stumbled upon the Tupelo Hardware Store; every Elvis fan knows that hardware store as the location where Elvis’ mother bought him his first guitar when he was just a child. 

So I parked, walked in, and introduced myself to the friendly man behind the counter.  I learned from him that there was “a story” of the guitar purchase that dated from way back in 1945; so I asked him if he could tell it to me.  “Oh, no, it’s not my story to tell.”  “Do you know the story?” I asked innocently.  “Oh yes, I know the story…I’ve heard it a thousand times…but it’s not my story to tell…”  After a bit of what seemed like an endless computer loop of conversation, I was told that the man whose story it was, had just left for lunch and would be back in an hour or two, should I want to wait and hear it from him. 

I admit to being a bit perturbed…although I was on vacation, and I really didn’t have anywhere to go for several hours, the idea of waiting to hear a story that could just as easily be told efficiently by this guy in front of me was…well, you understand!  Why couldn’t this nice man behind the counter just do what I want and tell me the Elvis guitar story so I could get back in my rental car and make my way back to Memphis?  Mildly amused that I had met someone more stubborn than me, I drove around town until the locals began to look askance at me.  Trying to be discreet in a small town where I clearly did not fit in, I went shopping in the clothing store across the street from Tupelo Hardware.  Finally, I decided to sit out the two hours at a lake I discovered just past the town’s boundaries.  So I sat and I waited.  After a couple of hours had passed, I meandered back to Tupelo Hardware, and after a few minutes of further waiting, the guitar man finally appeared.  This is the all-important story I heard, a story that he had received from his father-in-law, who was the original shopkeeper selling that old guitar: “Elvis,” he said pointing to the only door in the place, “walked in that door, on that floor, and stood here at this counter…”  He talked in a kind of hushed tone.  “…this same counter with the same glass top…the guitar was hanging back here on this wall…this same wall with the same pegboard…he tried out the guitar, his mama asked him he’d like that guitar for his birthday, and he said yes, ma’am…and she bought the guitar for him…”  That was the whole story.  I tried to be gracious in thanking him for telling it to me, and left the store mumbling to myself about the value of time.  With the mumbling turning to chuckling, I drove out of town reminding myself that I was, after all, on vacation…what else did I really have to do? 

All the way back to Memphis, I pondered the way those two Tupelo men thought of story, and I began to see that I had much to learn from my encounter with them.  They valued story in a way I had never experienced before.  Even though the simple sentences and easily-pronounceable words could have been repeated by others, these two shopkeepers valued that the story could only be told honestly by the person to whom it belonged.  Honoring that not every story is ours—or mine—to tell…that was the profound lesson from Tupelo that I experienced again this past week.

Here at Redlands UCC, we often tell each others’ stories.  We do this with great integrity and deep compassion during joys and concerns, as we invite others to be prayerfully mindful of those God loves.  In our church family, we hear each others’ stories—in Bible studies and grief groups and supportive conversations and over months and years of time.  Through the sharing and hearing of our stories, we become closer, more trustful, and stronger as a loving family.  Now, today, as a church community, we find ourselves moving through a season in which the story we most want to know is not a story that belongs to any of us to tell.  Here, at this moment on our shared journey of faith, let us be patient and tender with one another.  Here, in this sacred “pause” let us be especially compassionate and resilient as we covenant to continue walking with one another in love.  And in this sacred pause, this moment on our collective covenant journey, when we mourn an unknown story, may we find what it takes to join Garrison Keillor in affirming that here, as in Lake Wobegone, we women, men and children are all strong, reasonably good looking, and definitely above average…we will get through this season as a loving family of faith…a little lighter for having walked it together.

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