Zechariah 9: 9-12 Romans 7: 15-25 Matthew 11: 16-19, 25-30
Zechariah 9: 9-12
9Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he,
humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
10He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem;
and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations;
his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.
11As for you also, because of the blood of my covenant with you,
I will set your prisoners free from the waterless pit.
12Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope;
today I declare that I will restore to you double.
Matthew 11: 28-30
28“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Grace, mercy and peace be unto you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. AMEN.
IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL
So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, Wisconsin, my hometown. Summer has set in here in central Wisconsin. At the end of June, beginning of July, our little village becomes deserted as locals flee to their camps on the lake. A few tourists stop by and spend a night at Motel One (because it’s the only one in town). But they’re usually on their way to more important places, heading from Milwaukee to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan; or Easterners on their way to visit the Circus World Museum in Baraboo or the Wisconsin Dells, or the Badlands in the Dakotas or the world’s largest ball of twine.
A visitor in Fox Hill is the result of either:
a. the return of exiles – that is – when the grandchildren of our Fox Hill folk force their own children into nostalgia trips – to recreate the experiences of long ago youth. But it’s always a disappointment – the town looks more decrepit than they remembered it, the lake looks smaller and full of weeds, the root beer stand and the ice cream parlor disappeared a long time ago.
Yet, something about Fox Hill lures them back. It’s still home. It’s still Mom and apple pie. It’s still fireworks on the 4th of July. It’s the place where life began, where values began, where faith began. And they want their children to enjoy those same comforting feelings. Then they return to the rat race of the suburban dales (Oakdale, Riverdale, Bloomingdale, Chippendale) having been touched by a blessed peace which passes human understanding, ja, you betcha.
Or
b. visitors in Fox Hill are there as a result of a wrong turn looking for gas off the highway at Art’s Sinclair station with the big dinosaur on the sign or, more likely, because of road construction. There are after all only two seasons in Wisconsin: winter, which can last from October through April, and road construction for the rest of the time. Every summer drivers on the interstate highway are met with information signs (Road Construction ahead) followed later, after the Fox Hill detour, by protest signs (End Road Work!)
As the campfire song goes. . . .
“. . . when it’s hog-calling time in Nebraska, then it’s road construction time in Wisconsin” (You don’t know that one? Well it’s very popular in my hometown.)
But yesterday there were different visitors in town. Three white, 16-passenger vans pulled into the parking lot of the Communal Brethren Church. On sides of each was painted “Billy Ray Jones School of Evangelistic Ministries,” from Albany, Georgia. Seeking out a foreign mission field to practice the craft of evangelistic door-knocking, the Communal Brethren had invited them to Fox Hill, densely populated with ritualistic Southern European Catholics and pietistic Northern European Lutherans.
The motto of Billy Ray Jones School of Evangelical Ministries was “the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.” So they sought Christians in need of conversion upon whom they could practice their final exams in courses like Apocalyptic Theology, Armageddon Eschatology, and Cultural Exorcism. Students were particularly fond of the Church in Society class: “In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash.”
Now, Friday is Pastor Martin’s day off, his day to sleep in late and get yard work done; his day to spend with wife Judy, his Sabbath. This was especially true in the summertime, only to be interrupted by the occasional wedding rehearsal at Fox Hill Lutheran Church. So he was quite upset when the doorbell rang at 8 am. He jumped out of bed, threw on his robe and slippers and opened the door.
There stood two young men in white shirts and ties, black pants and crew cuts. He noticed that they were not wearing coronavirus masks, but they did seem dangerous. And it didn’t escape his awareness that one of them had moved his foot into the door jam. One of them began, “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” The other continued, “Good Morning, Sir, we’re from the Billy Ray Jones School of Evangelistic Ministries in Albany, Georgia, and we’d like to talk to you about the state of your soul.
“Well, I don’t. . .” Pastor Martin began to protest.
He was interrupted, “If you don’t mind my saying so, you ought to, sir. It is a dangerous time in which we live today. Do you read the paper or listen to the news?”
“Well, yes, I. . . .”
“Then you are aware of the evil surrounding us in the world. The devil is all around, seeking to devour us, don’t you agree?”
“Well, sure . . . .”
“Of course, you’re sure. We live in constant fear of the corona virus, national riots and foreign terrorist attacks. There are evil empires threatening to destroy and discredit our American values. Sin abounds, sir, even in sleepy villages like Fox Hill, even on this 4th of July weekend.”
“Have I bee sleeping too long?” thought Pastor Martin. “Have I not been vigilant against evil? How did he know I was still in bed?” He looked down at his Peter Rabbit slippers and their eyes winked a silent reply.
“These are the end times, the Day of Judgment is at hand. Where will you spend eternity, in heaven with the elect or in torment with the godless of the world? Your soul hinges on the balance between good and evil and for so many like yourself, the evil is winning. Now is the time to repent and save your soul.”
Pastor Martin was beginning to wake up. His Gospel theology began to click. He thought of St. Paul, the apostle, not the city. “May I never boast of anything except the cross of Jesus; for works of flesh are nothing, but a new creation is everything.” In a flash, Pastor Martin examined his soul.
“Thank you for your concern,” he said, “but I am a baptized child of God. I know that Jesus died for me. It is well with my soul.”
“But…” the two protested.
“Go in peace” the good pastor said. They stepped back, unsure of what to say and he shut the door.
“A little weak on justification by grace through faith,” he thought as he considered another course they might want to take and started humming, “When peace like a river attendeth my soul,” with its popular refrain, “It Is Well, it is well, with My Soul.”
As soon as David and Judy had finished a cup of A&P 8 o’clock Lutheran coffee, the phone rang. It was the family of Marjean Anderson. They had gathered around her bedside at her home. The end was near. They wanted Pastor Martin to come over and say a few words. There would be no peace for him on his day off. Pastor Martin dressed quickly and drove to the Andersons. After comforting family and hoping that Marjean knew he was there, and that God was there with her, he offered a prayer, led the gathered family in the 23rd Psalm, said the Lord’s Prayer together and gave a final benediction:
The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord’s face shine upon you and be gracious to you.
The Lord look with favor upon you And give you peace.
“And give you peace.” That was his calling, that was his mission, that was his purpose – to proclaim peace. Not to save souls; that was God’s job. His was to share God’s peace.
Fox Hill was hopping Friday night for the 4th of July fireworks; held this year on the 3rd because they were hoping less than 50 people would attend for social distancing. But gathered at the lakeshore was a rather large crowd of all the camp families, the local townsfolk, their exiled children returned for the holiday weekend, a few tourists surprised to have fireworks that night, and three van loads of evangelistic missionaries.
David and Judy didn’t join the crowds. It seemed too dangerous with all those people. They were content to watch the rockets’ red glare from the side-by-side rocking chairs on their porch. In between the oohs and the aahs, they talked. Pastor Martin wondered out loud, “I’m not sure what kind of evangelist I am. I admire the fervor of those missionary youngsters. I just think they focus more on the works of the flesh rather than life in the Spirit.”
“And I’m not sure what kind of patriot I am. I am grateful for constitutional strength and the military might to back up the freedoms of our country, but I’m embarrassed when we misuse both of them. I appreciate our democratic government but worry when so many people can’t afford health care. I love fireworks, but hate the warfare they represent.”
Judy added, “Remember when Jesus’ disciples, James and John, wanted to bid fire come down and destroy the villages of the Samaritans and Jesus rebuked them? That kind of thing is not what Jesus wants.”
“This I know for sure,” Pastor Martin reflected,” I am called and sent out to be an apostle. When Jesus sent out the seventy they had only one word to proclaim – PEACE. That’s all I can do – be God’s missionary of Love, Hope and Peace.
Then Judy and David provided a musical background to the Fox Hill fireworks display, and I’ll join them, and you’re invited to join me:
When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well. It is well with my soul.
And that’s the Good News from Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too.
May the peace of God which passes all understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus unto life everlasting. AMEN.
Rev. James H. Slater
July 4, 2004
No comments:
Post a Comment