Sunday, January 25

Today's Reading: Mark 1:14-20

Here's today's reflection/sermon...

On the surface, the morning of March 20, 2004 seemed like any other morning. Mike and I had been living in our townhome for ten months at that point, and we decided to spend a little time together that Saturday morning looking for things to furnish our new home so we headed to the Town Center of Aurora.

A couple hours into our shopping expedition we were coming out of Sears when we started to pass a business called Pet City. Now Mike and I had talked in very broad terms about the possibility of some day owning a dog. But it seemed unlikely that it would ever happen because we were worlds apart in our tastes. Mike was hoping for a Chocolate Lab or a Weimaraner, and I was hoping for a Miniature Pincher; so the odds of finding anything we could agree on seemed slim. That’s why I said, “Why don’t we stop at Pet City for a minute.”

We did. As we walked slowly through the store I realized my instincts were correct. “We are never going to agree on a dog,” I thought to myself. It was about that time, however, that we spotted a beautiful dog - an Italian Greyhound - tucked away in one of the back holding cells. It was a primarily grey dog that had the coloring of a Weimaraner, and it was a dog not much bigger than a Miniature Pincher. His beautiful grey eyes called out to us, and before we knew it Mike was sitting with him in the adoption pen as I signed the papers.

When we left home that morning, we had visions of returning home with nothing more than perhaps a few throw pillows and a lampshade. But in the span of a few hours, we had been transformed into dog owners.

“Well, it may cost a little more than the throw pillows and lampshade,” I tried to console myself, “but what’s the big deal? How much of a difference can an eight pound puppy really make in a person’s life?”

As I look back now – nearly five years later – I laugh when I think about that question for I realize what a huge difference that eight pound puppy made.

Before we owned the dog, for instance, I could pretty much come and go as I pleased. Being the workaholic that I am, that meant I was free to leave home at 7:30 in the morning and stay out until I finished my last meeting of the day at 9:00 PM. Once we got that puppy, I had to strategically divide my day into four hour blocks of time so I could ensure he got his walks, his bathroom breaks, and the attention he craved.

Before we owned the dog, I use to have something called disposable income. This meant I had the flexibility to spontaneously spend a portion of my income on things like dinners, movies, and sporting events. Once we got the dog, however, I’ve learned that after we covered his food, his health insurance, his grooming, and his occasional boarding fees I literally couldn’t afford to be quite as spontaneous as I once was.

And before we owned the dog, I had the silly notion that pets existed to meet my needs for things like companionship and affection. Once we got the dog, however, I learned that I had it backwards: we exist to meet their needs.

Looking back on that fateful day five years ago, I realize I was naïve to think that opening our hearts to that little puppy wouldn’t affect our lives that much. For through that simple act of opening our hearts – everything changed.

Of course Mike and I weren’t the only ones who found ourselves in an encounter with one whose impact we underestimated. In this morning’s passage from Mark, we heard the story of the call received by two sets of brothers: Simon and Andrew and James and John. All of these were men who – like Mike and I – were engaged in their usual routines when they heard their call. And like us, everything changed.

As the Sacred Grounds conversation group sat with the call story last Tuesday evening, one of the first things that was commented on was the frustrating lack of detail. “It would be so much easier to understand the story,” someone noted, “if we knew better the context of those decisions.”

As I heard the comment, I thought to myself: “I’m actually glad the story lacks detail. For you see the lack of detail makes it possible for us to step into that story with our own set of experiences and imagine for ourselves what it must have been like to answer that call.”

I could just imagine, for instance, Simon thinking something along the lines of what I thought as I stood beside Mike at the cash register with our new puppy. “Sure, I think I’ll go along with this. After all, how disruptive could this call be to my daily life?”

I could imagine James thinking to himself: “I haven’t taken a day off in months, and I’ve got plenty of vacation days accrued. I’m up for a little adventure in my life!”

I could practically hear John thinking: “You know, I’ve been working my tail off for my father Zebedee and gotten nothing to show for it. Maybe I’ll hang out with this guy for a while and see what’s in it for me!”

In other words, I can hear the story and realize that many of us from all ages experience our call and do the same thing: we try to minimize the call by convincing ourselves that things won’t really have to change. If that’s how you’ve treated your call, I want you to stop and consider the nature of a call once again.

For if there’s anything that I’ve learned about the nature of a call during my lifetime, it’s these three things. First, I’ve learned that call will disrupt your daily routine. Second, I’ve learned that call does not afford us the luxury of picking and choosing where it will lead. Third, I’ve learned that the nature of the call is not about meeting our wants and our needs. It’s much bigger than that.

And how do I know these things?

I know them from one decision this community made six years ago this month. Six years ago, this community voted to declare itself just the second Welcoming mainline church in the entire city of Aurora! And over the course of the last six years, I realized what a transformative experience it was for us to answer that call.

Six years ago, for instance, our weekly routines moved along pretty smoothly because we didn’t have many differences to accommodate. We all spoke the same language, we all had pretty much the same level of physical and mental abilities, and we all came from similar economic backgrounds. When we heard that call, however, we began to intentionally welcome those from different social locations – and suddenly, our collective life here at Mountain View became a little more complex.

Six years ago, we had the luxury of enjoying a community where we could assume most of us thought alike. And then we heard the call to welcome not some – but all of God’s children - and we began to attract folks who saw things differently than ourselves. That call took us into relationships that we might otherwise never had.

Six years ago, we had the luxury of being able to practice our faith in places that felt comfortable to us. And then we heard the call to minister to all – and suddenly we began to leave those comfortable places behind. We started embodying our faith in a variety of places ranging from public coffee shops to subsidized food warehouses to tables where we sat across from the homeless.

In other words, while we may have initially thought our call to become a Welcoming Community was much like that cute little puppy I held in my arms – safe and comfortable – it has proven to be anything but those things. Instead, that call has proven to be challenging and expansive for we have allowed ourselves to become a community of individuals shaped not in our own image – but in God’s.

And so, friends, as we go forth from this place of worship and continue the life-long process of growing into our calls, my prayer is this. I pray that we will have the wisdom and courage to see our calls not for what we would like them to be – but for what they really are.