Isaiah 11:1-9
Writing
a weekly sermon is a strange phenomenon. Normally I read the text a couple of
times on Monday. I pick a idea and write a prayer that is printed in the
bulletin. I think and sometimes dream about the text until Wednesday. Then I sit
at my computer and begin to compose something I audaciously, sometimes fearfully,
will throw your way come Sunday morning. The last couple of weeks have been
different. Everything during our Advent season is revolving around four
candles. Weeks ago I chose the scriptures that would complement the distinctive
identities we chosen for each candle. Today
we lit the candle of Privilege. Webster’s New World Dictionary defines
privilege as, “a right, advantage, or immunity granted to a particular person,
group or class which is withheld from all others.”
By Monday morning I
was paying more attention to the candle than the text. My imagination took me
to the world of Charles Dickens. He championed the children of 19th
century London more ferociously than anyone. Oliver Twist exposed the cruelty that befell orphans. Hard Times takes a critical look at
English culture and the disparity between the privileged and the rest of
society. Perhaps Dickens’s greatest
personification of the English gentry was exhibited in the character of Ebenezer
Scrooge.
Tuesday morning I
traveled to a prison, hospital and nursing home. Time alone in a car is a
dangerous commodity for someone on a holy mission to expose the dark side of
American society. I began a sermon that would have made a few of you angry,
most of you guilty, and caused some of you to exclaim, “Finally, the sermon I’ve
been waiting to hear.”
But often something
happens on the road to Emmaus. A few members of the Adult Sunday School class took
a field trip. Tuesday afternoon we gathered at the Zeus Theater in Waynesboro
to watch It’s a Beautiful Day in the
Neighborhood starring Tom Hanks as Mr. Rogers. It was not the movie any of
us expected to see. But it was the movie I needed to experience.
I remember watching
Mr. Rogers with my children. Martina thought he was a rock star. I have to
admit, I didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about. To begin with,
the show was too quiet. There were no dancing clowns, pies in the face, and
sophomoric jokes. There was very little humor, just this mild mannered man and
his imaginary friends having an intimate conversation with my child. The production was amateurish and the message
seemed terribly naïve, yet the message molded my children.
When I was in my 30’s
and our world was struggling with The Cold War, Mutually Assured Destruction,
and AIDS, Mr. Rogers seemed……childish. Mr. Rogers endorsed the absurdity of a
wolf lying down with a lamb. I let my kids watch the show because I wanted them
to be neighborly toward their friends. But I knew no one was going to bring
about World Peace with a hand puppet.
I announced my
skepticism to a clergy friend who told me of an incident that had happened
years ago in Pittsburg. One Monday afternoon, with the temperatures rising close
to 100, some African-American children climbed the fence of a local country
club and went for a swim. The club was closed on Monday’s in order to clean the
pool. Residents were outraged, local authorities were notified, and the
children were hauled off to jail. A week later Mr. Rogers sat in front of the
children of America filling a little plastic swimming pool with water when his
friend Officer Clemmons dropped by to visit. Together they took off their shoes
and socks and placed their tired and hot feet into the pool. The swimming pool
incident was never mentioned. Officer Clemmons, a regular on the show, was
played by an African-American actor. I quickly became a fan of Fred Rogers.
Needless to say, Tuesday,
with tissues in my pockets, I joyfully sat down in my theater seat. Little did
I know Fred Rogers was about to interrupt a sermon that was already bustling in
my head and ready to be placed on paper.
I will not spoil the
film for you. I just noticed that every time Fred Rogers, on or off camera, met
someone he began the conversation by telling them what a privilege it was to
meet them. Now those might not be the exact words, but it is what God allowed
me to hear. Mr. Rogers stopped everything he was doing and made the person in
front of him the most important person in the world. I watched as people were
transformed by this incredibly act of kindness and recognition. He listened,
and by listening, made each person’s life unique. He would take a picture at
the end of the conversation and then write their name down in order not to
forget them. Each night Fred Rogers would open a book filled with names and he
would mention each by name as he began his evening prayer.
Tuesday morning I was
hopelessly raging against the machine that always seems controlled by a small
privileged group of the economically elite. By Tuesday evening I was
transformed by two gestures of righteous behavior.
People come up to all
the time and will ask me why God is not more involved in solving the problems
of poverty, inequality, climate change, racism, sexism, and I could go on and
on and on. I always give the same answer, “God created us to lead the way.”
The quick response is
always, “I am doing the best I can. It is all those other people who are the
problem.” I understand that response. We don’t live in a world where the wolf
and lamb lie down together because everyone we disagree with is a wolf…………and
vise versa.
So allow me be a bit
naïve. How often do we say to someone, “It is a privilege to meet you”, and
then listen to their story? How often do we go home and put their name in a
book filled with folks for whom we will mention is our prayers? You might be
thinking, “I don’t have a prayer book.” Sure you do. It is called the church
directory.
Deb and I moved to
Wilmington NC in 1981. We had one baby, one job and one car. Deb needed to work
so we could survive. This meant we needed a second car. I got a call from Carl
Ferger, a man who lived down the street. Carl had a proposal. He had a car
which he could no longer drive. Carl’s body ws being destroyed by arthritis and
he could not function without a wheel chair. Carl said I could have his car if
once a month I would drive him to his doctor. The car was in worse shape than
Carl but the deal was struck. Once a month I would lift him from his bed, carry
him to the car, and take him to the doctor.
Needless to say I
spent a lot of time with Carl. We would sit together at the hospital. Nurses
and doctors would come up to speak to him. I was amazed that he knew everyone’s
name. The conversation would quickly switch from his health to their lives. I
watched as this crippled old man became a healer.
After six months I
began to notice the folks who spoke to Carl were just not five or six regulars.
I couldn’t keep up with all the folks that stopped to talk. Finally I asked
Carl, “How do you keep up with all these people and their stories.” His answer was, “I pray for them every night.
By that simple
transition from, “It is a privilege to meet you” to “It is a privilege to pray
for you”, miracles happen.
A kind and gentle man talked
to America’s children telling them he had the privilege to be their neighbor.
Did he make a difference? Ask my
daughter.
A kind and crippled
man sat in a hospital healing folks with his ears. Did he make a difference?
Folks in Wilmington still remember Carl Ferger.
The spirit of the Lord
rested on both these men. It was a spirit of wisdom and understanding, a spirit
of counsel and knowledge. It was a spirit that delighted in God. And what was
their reward for such righteous behavior? They sat down as wolves and lambs and
became friends. Amen.
