Still Living, Still Giving

Each year, in September, our congregation receives a bequest from a Trust Fund. It was established by a 90 year old woman, who died in February 2002. Upon receipt of the gift, I always reflect on the words God gave me to speak at her home-going celebration.

This past week those who keep custody of the nuclear "doomsday" clock advanced the minute hand toward the midnight hour of final destruction. I can't attest to their
calculations about destruction, but I do know that they don't have the last word on what's final -and you know it, too. As her last gift to us - her community of faith - Dorothy brought us each closer to death as we make our own journey through Lent to Easter. Jesus' resurrection is God's answer to what's final.

Throughout her life Dorothy chose the quiet way. I'm not saying she wasn't aware of all that went on around her, or that she was sheltered from life's hardships. I'm saying that Dorothy chose to move through the unfolding of her life firmly attached to the strong foundation of God's promises. She never saw her life as a series of disconnected episodes that pushed her to and fro, and left her in a state of confusion. Drawing confidence in God's abiding love and nearness from the scriptures and from the Word of God made flesh in Jesus; Dorothy lived her life as someone who was being conducted through an immense cathedral, not someone lost on a shoreless sea. Dorothy's quietness was blessed because of its boldness, and her quietness was holy because of its fruitfulness.

Since Dorothy's whole world was the dwelling place of God, she wasn't governed, as so many of us are, by either social pressures or unwarranted fears. When I'd chide her for opening her door to strangers, she'd say, "Well, after I meet them, they're not strangers anymore." So, Dorothy regularly did things most of us would call reckless and foolhardy, she:
• looked you in the eye -not over your shoulder
• made sure she heard your question, before she answered
• was honest with herself before the Lord, so she could tell you the truth
• liked laughing at herself rather than at anyone else
• tried new things because, for her, life was an adventure, not a routine
• enjoyed welcoming new members -and their traditions -into her church, because she
believed their status, dignity and worth came from God's love, not her tastes or
her approval
• preferred sharing a ladle of love to hoarding a gallon of grudge.
People of faith don't call these courageous deeds random acts of kindness. We call that kind of breaking-open and pouring-out love, ministry.

Dorothy understood Martin Luther to be reestablishing the church as a gathering of disciples and apostles, not founding a resort into which the frozen chosen were to retreat. So Dorothy ministered to her family, her friends, her church, and - through the blankets she sewed and monetary donations she made - to the whole world. Those of us who knew her well couldn't say her ministry was orderly, but we could hardly suggest it had no focus. Dorothy frequently overextended herself ministering to those in need, but she never lost her way. At times her work interfered with her sleep, but not with her prayer. I always wondered how she kept her ministry so clearly on track through all the interruptions and problems she so readily shared with all those whom she loved.

Then one day it struck me that whenever she opened her arms and heart to embrace another, it was the same as Jesus opening his arms on the cross to embrace the whole world. Dorothy came among us as one who trusted that those who believe in Jesus will have eternal life, and the Jesus she believed in came to save the world, not to condemn the world. So the people she encountered as God guided her journey through the cathedral we call world were never interruptions, disruptions, or obstacles. For Dorothy, they were opportunities, sacred encounters, and new moments in time for her to carry out her share in Jesus' mission. That's why God called her into being.

I prefer keeping "world" time by Dorothy's clock. According to that time-piece it's not midnight's time for either destruction or finality. It's simply, graciously, a new dawn. Time to say, "Well done good and faithful servant. Thank you; till we meet again."