A Note from Pastor Bill

Dear St. Luke’s Saints,

Several of you have emailed me a story that is circulating on the web, and it fits well with last week’s core value of Christ-centered acceptance and this week’s core value of Christ centered hospitality. See what you think:

His name is Bill. He has wild hair, wears a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans, and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He is brilliant. Kind of profound and very, very bright. He became a Christian while attending college. Across the street from the campus is an upscale, mission-minded, well-intentioned church. They want to develop a ministry to the students but are not sure how to best go about it. One day Bill decides to go there. He walks in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service has already started, so Bill starts down the aisle looking for a seat.

The church is completely filled, and he can't find a seat. By now people are distracted and really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one says anything.
Bill gets closer and closer to the pulpit, and when he realizes there are no seats, he just squats down right on the carpet. Now folks are really uptight, and the tension in the air is noticeable.

About this time, the pastor realizes that from way at the back of the church, the lead usher, a deacon, is slowly making his way toward Bill.

The deacon is in his eighties, has silver-gray hair, and a three-piece suit. A gracious and godly man, very elegant, very dignified. He walks with a cane, and as he starts walking toward this boy, everyone is saying to themselves that you can't blame him for what he's going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and of his background to understand some college kid on the floor?

It takes a long time for the man to reach the boy.

The church is utterly silent except for the clicking of the man's cane. All eyes are focused on him. You can't even hear anyone breathing. The minister can't even preach the sermon until the deacon does what he has to do.

And now they see this elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty, he lowers himself and sits down next to Bill and worships with him so he won't be alone.

Everyone chokes up with emotion. When the minister gains control, she says, "What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget. Be careful how you live. You may be the only Bible some people will ever read!"

That reminds me of the poem “Sermons We See” by Edgar Guest. It begins with these words:

I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day;
I'd rather one should walk with me than merely tell the way.
The eye's a better pupil and more willing than the ear,
Fine counsel is confusing, but example's always clear;
And the best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds,
For to see good put in action is what everybody needs.

This Sunday we will be asking ourselves what people “see” when they come to St. Luke’s, when they come into our homes, or perhaps even when they come up behind us in the grocery checkout line.

The scripture lesson for this Sunday (Matthew 11:28-30) may at first read seem to be unrelated to hospitality. (The word in Greek actually means “love for strangers.”) But when Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heaven burdens, and I will give you rest,” I see plainly the imperative of love for the stranger. Jesus says “Come,” and Jesus says that to “all.” We who are the living body of Christ in the world are the ones who give the invitation and are the ones to whom the burdened strangers come for help and rest.

Having said that, I hope you yourself will come this Sunday. With six worship services at two sites, I am sure you can find a place for your own rest and renewal!

With faith, hope, and love,
Bill