Yea…that’s me. I’ve got a brand new machine. It’s tiny. It’s my datebook. It’s my phone. It’s my music player. It’s a camera. It gets email and surfs the internet. It’s a complete little computer with more memory than we had on our first two desk-top computers combined. And I can carry it in my pocket. Not to mention: I’ve got a laptop computer full of bells and whistles connected to the world via a high-speed LAN. I’ve got a 250 Gb portable hard drive that’s not much bigger than the old paper datebook I used to carry. I actually know how to use most of this stuff. I’m thinking about getting tights and a cape.

Until it breaks. Until the network goes down. Until the blue screen of death appears…right before your hard drive (in its death throes) eats all your files.

These are wonderful tools. They are wonderful toys. But that is all they are. Real back-up can’t be bought at Best Buy. The real software of life can’t be downloaded from Microsoft. Real power can’t be crammed into a machine in your pocket…and it doesn’t cost $300 or come with a two-year contract.

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Jesus the Christ. Jesus the gift. Jesus the bread and the wine, the water and the Word, the hope and the joy and the power for our lives.

But you know this already. So do I. It’s just hard to live…and good to be reminded.

Our lives seem to work much the same way. Yesterday’s plane crash outside Fremont is a prime example. It was a party…a celebration…a day for fun. And then this up-to-now trustworthy machine falls from the sky with six passengers aboard. Lives are snuffed out in an instant. The storm breaks loose.

It’s the normal first question in such an instance: Why did God let this happen? That’s a premise for a much longer discussion than a blog entry. There is another question we can tackle here, however: To what do you cling when life crashes and the storm hits?

The assumption, of course, is that there will be storms…no matter how sunny the current moment. And we know this assumption to be true by the experience of our own lives. Since our lives, then, are not unmitigated sweetness and light, we look for something constant…some solid rock…on which to lean when the storms come.

Back to the Gospel reading from two Sundays ago. “The rains fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house but it did not fall…for it had been founded on rock.” (Matthew 7:25)

There will be deep grief to overcome for those who lost their loved ones yesterday. But there is also One upon whom we may lean in such grief. Christ knows our sufferings for he has borne them in himself. He also stands as evidence that such sufferings, though they do their worst, do not have the last word for us. God has that last word…and it is life.

So we can enjoy the sun, and we can endure the storm. Whatever comes is no match for the One who walks with us.

I know this already...but I forget it so easily.

A young person stopped by this morning, having been referred by a member of our community. She needed food and rent assistance for her family in the midst of some difficult times for them. As is often the case, she asked about when our worship services were held. Most folks who come for help ask that; few of them ever show up...but it's something to talk to the preacher about while he's helping load the groceries in your car.

And yet: this conversation was different. She asked about which door to enter. She asked if her children would be permitted to be with her in worship. She asked if there was a dress code.

The answers to these questions seem glaringly obvious to me. The big door. Kids are always welcome in worship. Wear shorts; it's going to be hot.

But then again...I practically live in this place.

Which means that I need to be reminded: opening this congregation to the communities we serve in Christ's name takes more than simply unlocking the door and publishing a list of programs, studies and worship times. It takes human contact...the power of invitation and relationship...so that folks can be welcomed in past whatever obstacles they perceive or bad memories they have of what church is all about.

I hope this young woman and her family come on Sunday. I'll be watching to welcome her. And I'll be alerting some of our other young families to watch for her, too. I want her to know. More: I want us to be a congregation that is not just an open door. For the sake of the mission Christ gives us, we need to be an open heart, an open mind, and open arms.

We spent much of the weekend in the flowerbeds…that once-a-year chore of cleaning up the sticks and leaves, topping the daffodils and tulips, pulling the year’s first weeds, planting our “annuals,” trimming and mulching. Hard work (our bodies remind us!) but satisfying. There's a real sense of accomplishment when it's finally done.

This year the job was a bit bigger than usual. Eight bushes along the front had to go. They were likely planted too close together more than a dozen years ago (when they were new and small). And even with regular trimming since then, they’d simply gotten out of hand…to the point where they were crowding each other and the sidewalk. It was ugly.

But not now. Those eight bushes were replaced with just four. Some new breathing space was opened for the remaining plants and the added color of more flowers. It really looks nice…better, I think, than I had imagined it would.

So…is there any room to grow in your life? Or are things so out of hand that all the color has been crowded out? I realize this isn’t an issue for everyone. But more and more of the folks I talk too seem absolutely harassed by their own calendars…by schedules usually of their own making. Sure, there’s work. Add in that the kids (and/or grandkids) are in baseball, gymnastics, soccer, 4-H and go-kart racing...all at the same time. Plus, you’ve got to take care of the house and the cars and whatever additional stuff has accumulated over the years. And it sure would be nice to take some time this weekend for stuff you like to do...to go to the races, and the concert and the zoo.

“Pastor, I just can’t keep up. We’d love to be more involved, but there just aren’t enough hours in a day.”

Or maybe it’s time to pull a few bushes…to open up some space for healthy growth and real color.

Story #1:

Remember a few weeks ago when I was complaining about the squirrels in the attic? Turns out those weren’t squirrels; it was (and still is) a raccoon. To complicate the issue, we think it’s a Momma raccoon who had her babies yesterday afternoon…on Mother’s Day. Isn’t that just sweet?

Maybe or maybe not. We can debate the merits of animals…birthing animals…in your attic. But that’s not really the point.

This past Friday evening, we held a stake-out party…also billed as a raccoon exorcism. With the vent cover off the attic, we gathered across the parking lot in our lawn chairs, armed with our mini-keg, our cheese and crackers and our binoculars in order to watch for the raccoon to leave the attic on its nightly foray. Our patience was rewarded; the beasty climbed out the opening, up the chimney, across the roof and scooted down the TV antenna and out into the woods. A few of us scrambled up onto the adjacent roof and quickly covered the opening with a nice heavy metal cover. Then we rejoiced at having (finally) gotten the animal out. Yippee!

Early Sunday morning, about 1:30am…in the night before she was to apparently give birth…our masked friend returned. Upon finding access to her nest covered by metal, she starting tearing into things…including a couple of bedroom screens. (Good thing we had the windows closed!) I could hardly believe the ferocity of this little animal…so desperate was she to get back in. And wouldn’t you know: she succeeded. She tore a whole in the metal cover, ripping it away from the metal frame into which it had been securely screwed, and left it hanging there in shreds and pieces.

Story #2:

Some folks let me know recently that they hadn’t been able to come to church for a few weeks because one Sunday they drove into the parking lot and couldn’t find a space. So they went home.

Follow-up Question:

What does the raccoon understand that we human beings don’t? Are there places worth fighting your way in to? What are we willing to give/spend/invest of ourselves in order to come into that most desirable of all human “nests”…the presence of the gracious and living God?

I’ll let you answer those for yourself. In the meantime: if you show up here and the lot is full, go ahead and park on the grass.