Author Archives: Forrest Krummel

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Gimpse of Grace…forgiveness

    “Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, ‘Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?’” (Matthew 18:21)

    There was time, when I was a young boy, that my father and my aunt—his sister—didn’t speak for a long number of years. I vaguely remember the origin of the rift. It was something about a car and Christmas and I am sure other things that my young mind could not wrap understand at the time. The bottom line, though, was that it was about something quite silly. I’m sure words were said or written, feelings were hurt, and it took on a life of its own. The dark dogs of Pride were unleashed.
    I don’t recall if they ever exchanged “courtesy Christmas cards” or not. I don’t know who they thought they were hurting. I do know that I was collateral damage because I was very fond of this aunt. She was the fun one. And, no doubt, they hurt each other. Now, in all fairness, their family of origin (F.O.O.) was quite dysfunctional. Their mother died rather unexpectedly at a young age and shortly thereafter, their older brother was killed in World War Two. Over the years I am sure that everyone learned to live with this “new normal.”
    Then, in the very early years of my ministry, as I led Bible studies, taught classes and read theology I came to the conclusion that for a follower of Jesus, forgiveness is not optional equipment. It lies at the very heart of discipleship. In response to Peter’s question about how many times he had to forgive a brother or sister, Jesus replied, “not seven times, but seventy times seven.” And then a little later, at the Cross, Jesus reenforced this teaching by looking down upon those who betrayed, denied and crucified Him and prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34)  These things fermented in my soul.
    One day, while visiting my folks, Dad and I were alone doing something or other. We were outside and I remember saying to him, “You know, Dad. I’ve been thinking. I think that if Jesus meant what He said then forgiveness so central to His teaching. And if that is true, then I don’t believe that when we die God will ever send us or anyone else to hell. Instead, I think that when we die we will find the person whom we haven’t forgiven here on earth standing at the “pearly gates” as a gatekeeper. We will have to shake their hand as we enter heaven.  And if we don’t want to, or can’t then God won’t have to send us to hell. We’ll send ourselves to hell because of our unwillingness to forgive.”
    He didn’t say anything but at the time he was an elder in his church. I don’t know what he thought then or later. I don’t know if he ever thought of it again or not. But I do know this, some time later there was a reconciliation. I don’t know how it came about, but it did. I also know that all of his estranged siblings were reconciled with each other and that they had several small intimate “family reunions” in his final years. Occasionally I would hear stories rich with laughter, stories and memories. The night before he died, three days after my mother died, Dad was on a conference call with his sisters. One had come for Mom’s funeral. A second nursed her husband after surgery in a distant city. The third also had a husband with health problems and could not attend the funeral. But they had one last reunion, one last telephone call. When I found Dad on the morning after he died I looked at the caller I.D. On it, I saw my last phone call to him, the one that he didn’t answer at 9:02 p.m.  And immediately preceding that call was the conference call placed at 8:45 pm. That ten minute conference call ended with Dad saying to each of his sisters, “I love you.” As far as I know, those were the last words he ever uttered. Those are not bad last words to have.
    I think that that reconciliation, any reconciliation, is a  glimpse of grace.

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Glimpse of Grace in a Church Garth (edited)

For the last four years a mallard nested in our church garth—a walled outdoor garden courtyard located in the middle of the church building. She first showed up when the garth was being excavated so that new drainage tile could be laid. While it was under construction we had an unusually wet spring which resulted in a six foot deep hole filling with runoff water. This “pond” surrounded by high brick walls must have been just too inviting to resist. She saw not a garth with a water-filled mud hole, but a safe small pond. Over the years she has been dubbed, “Garth Duck.”
    These last years we watched her nest, give birth and even mourn. Last year all of her little ones died, one by one. I hated going into the garth each day knowing that I would find another little body. We wondered what killed them. We knew that it wasn’t a predator. Had they been poisoned? Was there an unknown toxin? Maybe the fertilizer?  It wasn’t until after the last duckling died that someone mentioned that our Associate Minister, who left the previous year, put feed out each morning the previous two years! All this time I thought they forged(this should be foraged) off the land! But no, they had been fed! 
    After the last duckling died it was heartbreaking to see the mother walk around the garth mournfully calling to her brood which was no more.  Each evening she would utter what can only be described as a mournful cry to the setting sun. I felt terrible about what had happened and vowed that if she returned, there would not be a repeat.
    Well, as I said, she came back this year in all of her glory. It was almost as if she wanted to make up for lost time as she  laid fourteen eggs! Patiently she sat on her next(this should be nest) under an evergreen shrub. And then, a couple of weeks ago while the Benediction was being said at the outdoor worship service, she decided to take her brood on their first morning walk, around the perimeter of the garth to the excitement of all the worshipers! Needless to say, God gave a greater Benediction that day!
    As I sit in the minister’s study watching Garth Duck and her little ones on an early morning run-about, I see a glimpse of grace. What drew her back to this spot over the past four years, especially after a year of great sadness? Watching her silhouette against the high brick walls of the garth, I think that I know what it was. In the words of the Psalm, “The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer…in whom I take refuge.” (18:2) Surrounded by the sanctuary of a worship space, she found true sanctuary, even in the shadow of sadness.

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Glimpse of Grace Through a Poem

I was in eighth grade when Mrs. Miller introduced me to poetry. The truth of the matter is that I am not a “poetry kind of guy.” I’ve never really appreciated the giants of the art whether they be American or European. Whitman and Longfellow leave me cold, no matter how beautiful others say they are. Burns and Chaucer, ditto. I guess that I am more of a limerick kind of fellow. But Mrs. Miller did expose me to one poet who touched my soul, Robert Frost. His is the only set of collected works of poetry that I own.
    When I was young there was still a vestige of eighth grade being a “terminal degree”, if degree is the right word. And in this shadow, we had eight grade graduation complete with a class motto and poem. Our class poem was Frost’s “Two Roads.”
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth…
    In this season of graduation seniors are thinking about their futures. They have many decisions to make. Many “roads” from which to choose. H. Jackson Brown, Jr. once wrote that the most important decision a person makes is who they will marry. “90% of your happiness or misery will depend on that decision”, he said.  I think that there is a bigger decision. What will we do with Jesus?
    As Jesus concluded His “Sermon on the Mount” one can hear the echo of  Joshua. Standing on the edge of the Promised Land generations earlier Joshua gave the Israelites a very simply choice. “Choose this day whom you will serve” (Joshua 24:15).  I don’t know if Jesus was thinking of Joshua when He told the crowd before Him,  “Strive to enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction. (Matthew 7:13)
    Prior to saying this, Jesus painted a picture of how God looks at the world, and what it means to walk “the Jesus-Way.” Jesus never sugar-coated. His Way, the Kingdom Way, is not easy. It requires discipline and commitment. It requires a new way of thinking and looking at the world around us. But, Jesus said, His Way will lead to “real” life, to a life that matters. His Way moves us from fleeting success to eternal significance.
    Frost ended his poem with these words.  
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller,long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better clim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,  …
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
    Enter through the narrow gate, Jesus said.  For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction… But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life and only a few find it. Which road will you travel? Within that decision there lies a glimpse of grace.

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Glimpse of Grace…in a Ruler

When I was a kid the local Coca Cola Bottling Company gave a six pack of Coke to any student who presented a report card with 5 A’s during a grading period. Back then, at least in my household, soda was a special treat. My family simply didn’t buy soft drinks, even on birthdays! Coke also gave us a wooden ruler with Coca Cola Bottling Company stamped on the back side and the Golden Rule imprinted upon the front. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” It wasn’t until years later that I appreciated the marketing genius—The Golden Rule stamped on a ruler!
      Jesus was not the first to teach this principle. It is found in most major religions of the world. The difference, though, is that Jesus, rather than formatting it in the negative, as in, “Do not do to others what you would not want them do to you,” framed it in the positive! Rather than not doing harm, Jesus told his followers not only to do no harm, but to actively do good! This is a very big difference. The former allows us to withdraw from the world while The Golden Rule pushes us into the brokenness of the world. The first allows us to believe that because we haven’t done anything “bad”, we are sin free. Before I took Jesus seriously, this was my thought.  I considered myself to be a pretty good guy. But pretty good isn’t good enough. Life isn’t graded on a curve. I was being passive and letting myself off of the hook, not an active disciple of Jesus. 

     Active discipleship lies at the heart of Jesus’ parable of The Good Samaritan. In the parable, the priest and the Pharisee didn’t do anything wrong, per se. But they didn’t they didn’t do anything right, either. They did not help the beaten, bloodied, left for dead traveler. That was their bad.
      Disciples of Jesus must not settle for “doing no harm.” We are called to do good, even when it doesn’t directly involve us. When we do,  That’s when we become a glimpse of grace.

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Glimpse of Grace…Do We Dare Take Easter Seriously?

Easter is about so much more than bunnies and eggs.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I like the traditional American trappings of Easter. When I was a boy I used to get a solid chocolate Easter bunny each  year. On Easter afternoon my dad and I would sit together in an easy chair and devour the little bunny–piece by piece!  I colored hard boiled eggs with my mother.  To this day, every time I smell hot water and vinegar I have a flashback. I hunted Easter eggs in my back yard. When I was a real little boy I sat with my mother and listened to an old 78 rpm record of Irving Berlin’s “Easter Parade”.  I can still hear the scratchy sound of Fred Astaire and Judy Garland singing,  “In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it, You’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade.”  And I miss the Easter bonnets. They’ve gone out of style in my culture, but while walking through a department store a few weeks ago I spied a display of big beautiful Spring hats—Easter bonnets! I tried to talk my wife into buying one, but alas.
    When I say that Easter is about more than bunnies and eggs I am not trying to be a curmudgeon or a grumpy old man. I am merely saying that we must be careful not to get so caught up in the trappings of Easter that we tame the both the radical-ness of the Easter message and the revolutionary teachings of Jesus. The story is familiar to many of us, maybe too familiar. We’ve heard it so many times that we’ve become inoculated to its transforming power.
    Jesus of Nazareth born in a little back water village in a remote corner of the great Roman Empire of very humble parents grew in wisdom and stature and favor. He healed the sick, and touched the untouchable. He seemed to go out of His way to find the marginalized. At the end He was betrayed, denied, crucified and buried. End of story. But no, not this story.
    On that first Easter morning Mary Magdalene was met by the wonder and mystery of the tomb. The great stone that sealed assured Death of final victory was rolled away. She ran to Peter and to the disciple simply identified as “the one whom Jesus loved.” They, in turn, raced to the tomb. Each person at the tomb looked and saw something different. One saw grave clothes neatly folded. Another saw faith. Mary saw angels. Then she mistook a Stranger for a gardener.  Like the disciples who walked to Emmaeus and only recognized the Risen Lord at the breaking of bread, Mary recognized the “gardener” as “the Lord” when He spoke her name!
    What are we to make of all of this? What does all of this mean?  If the One Who Was Crucified, Dead and Buried is alive, then everything is different, forever different! It means that we have to take Jesus seriously!  We need to seriously consider a new way of life—not just an after life but a here-and-now life!
    Do we dare to take Jesus seriously enough to believe that there is a better way?  If so, Forgiveness is not optional equipment in life but an a new Reality, no matter how difficult it may be for us to forgive. And Generosity is not just something that we do with “left overs” but with “first fruits”! And Peace? Well, peace is not just a state of mind or heart but the reconciliation of warring factions.
    If we take Jesus seriously, do we also dare to also believe that the Kingdom of God is right here, right now, in our very midst!  “Wherever two or three are gathered in My name, ” He said, “I’ll be in the midst of them!”  Do we dare to believe that the Kingdom of God touches the brokenness of this world through our touch, whenever we reach out to the least, the last and the lost?!
    And do we dare to believe that those things we hold on to so tightly because we are so insecure in our relationship with our Maker are not really ours—never were and never will be?  Can we come to terms with the reality that we are merely sojourners passing through this world on our way to a place we long for but can never find in our hearts, a place called Home?!
    Do we dare to believe these things? If we do, then Easter is about so much more than bunnies and eggs bonnets and parades. It is about daring to believe—and following the One who went to the Cross and the Grave and Beyond.

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Glimpse of Grace

My dad loved thunder storms, especially, it seemed, at night. I remember as a child sitting on his lap as a real “rumbler” rolled through from the west. I’ve often wondered why he liked them. He seemed to find a certain peace, especially in the summertime.  If I ever asked him “why”, I don’t remember his answer. He entered the Church Triumphant several years ago. But still, I wonder.  Was Dad fascinated by the wind or the lightening? Perhaps he was reflecting upon life’s hard knocks, the storms and disappointments that he confronted and largely overcame? Maybe he was having a “Walter Mitty” moment, imaging himself back in the navy standing on the deck of a ship cutting though the North Sea.  I don’t know why, but I do know that I was afraid.     
        The disciples knew what it was like to be afraid. One night they were taking Jesus to the other side of the Sea of Galilee.  Suddenly a storm arose. They were sure that they were going to die. They desperately looked for Jesus and found Him, asleep, in the stern of the boat!  “Don’t you care?” they cried.  I can understand their fear. I can imagine their desperation. We’ve all been afraid. We’ve all wondered at one time or another, whether we want to admit it or not, “Don’t you care?”
        “Be still,” Jesus commanded. And, just like at the Creation when God brought silenced the chaos, the wind died, the waves calmed, order was restored, and the disciples looked at each other, wondering, “Who is this man?”
        “Why are you afraid?” Jesus asked. The question cut to the heart of the matter. It cuts us, too.
         Overwhelmed. Swamped. Afraid. Life has a way of making us afraid. “Don’t you care?” we ask. Yes, He cares. Jesus does care, and if He cares, then we know that God cares.
         Therein lies the good news, the glimpse of grace. Sooner or later, in His own time, always at the right time, He “stills the storm.”

 

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Glimpse of Grace in the Present Moment

A few months ago I decided to “walk through” the gospel of Mark as a part of my morning devotions. By “walk through”, I mean that I do not read in order to finish the gospel, per se. Rather, I kind of “stroll”, stopping at whatever catches my imagination, reading only until a phrase or a word gives me pause, makes me think for a moment or two.  Some days I may read a whole chapter. of the gospel. Those days are quite rare. Most days, indeed almost every day, I only read a phrase or two, maybe a few verses.  Recently I was stopped by a phrase at the beginning of chapter five; “the man (a demoniac) lived among the tombs.” (5:3)

     It struck me that no matter what the cultural setting may have been, to live among the tombs is live among the dead, the lifeless. In other words, to live in the past. It is to be limited by the memory of what once was but is no more. It is spending time, energy and money in an attempt to re-capture or replicate whatever glory we believe the past held.

     I know that the story is essentially about an exorcism, but it is also more than a simple exorcism. Is it possible that the story is also told to remind us that God can and does free us from the various “tombs” of our own past. Often we think that we are bound or limited by our yesterdays. The story, though, may be telling us that by grace we can be freed from the “chains and shackles” that weight us down.

     Some of us live too much in the past and hallow it to our own detriment. Others are wooed too much by the future and comfort themselves saying, “I’ll be happy when…I’m older, I get out of school, get my first job, get married, become a mother or father, receive an  inheritance, get a promotion, become CEO, get my dream job, etc. The list is endless.

     Look too much at the past or too much toward the future and you miss the present. It is in the present where life is lived, one day at a time. That it is where the living God is found, too. Right here, right now. Today, my friends, is a glimpse of grace.

    

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Glimpse of Grace in a Fourth Grade Teacher

I knew that my oldest daughter was going to be an educator when she came home from school one afternoon and announced that she wanted a pair of red canvas tennis shoes “like Mrs. Hall’s.” Mrs. Hall was her fourth grade teacher. She idolized Mrs. Hall. When we asked her how her day at school went she would begin by telling us something that Mrs. Hall said or did. Often we would hear “teaching” her dolls when she thought no one was listening or noticing. If imitation is the highest form of flattery, Mrs. Hall should have been quite flattered.

     Imitation is defined as copying the actions, mannerisms, appearance or speech of another, to mimic. At some point in our lives, we all imitate someone or even several “someones.” Often this is done unconsciously. Sometimes it is done consciously.  It is through imitation that we “try on” different personas. We learn how to act and even think. Boys often imitate their father, older brother or uncle in the early years and perhaps a coach as they grow older. Girls mimic their mother or sister or aunt, teacher or coach.  If the person being imitated realizes what is going on, they may become an intentional mentor, showing their young protege “the ropes.”

     We learn through imitation. Imitation is how we figure out who we are or who we are not. Slowly we find ourselves being changed, transformed, shaped into the individual we are today. This is true of each and every one of us. Charles Barkley’s protests aside, Johnathan Vilma hit the nail on the head when he said that whether we like it or not, “we are role models.” Someone is always watching us, studying us, judging how we measure up. It may be that we do not measure up. In that case, let’s hope that if we can’t be a good example then we’ll be a good warning!

     In his first letter to the Corinthian church, the Apostle Paul encouraged the community to “imitate me as I imitate Christ.” 11:1) Paul was not being arrogant, though many read his comment as such. He simply knew that following Jesus was not easy. Jesus cut a “new path”, a difficult path.Jesus said things like, “Whoever would be my disciple must pick up the cross and follow me” and “Whoever wishes to save their life, will lose it, but whoever loses their life for my sake and the Gospel’s will find it.” The Corinthian community had to learn how to follow Christ and to see the world differently. They had to learn not only what Godly love was but to live that love with each other as well as their enemies. 

     If we could all be a “Mrs. Hall” in our Christian discipleship the world would be more like the peaceable kingdom that the prophet Isaiah saw centuries ago. And each one of us would be a living glimpse of grace.

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Glimpse of Grace on a Playground

Years ago, when my daughters were young, I spent many warm summer mornings playing in a park near our house with the youngest of the two while the older one was busy mastering First Grade.
One morning I knew it was time to go home for lunch and a nap when my daughter started staring off into space while swinging. As was often the case, whenever it came time to go home, her legs were just “too tired” to walk.  Rather than debate or cajole, I scooped her up in my arms and headed home. She was fading fast. I could tell because she started her “nap-time-settling-in” routine. She began to rub her sweaty brow into my shoulder. Not wanting her to fall asleep before lunch, I whispered in her ear those magic words that makes everyone’s ears perk up. “I’ve got a secret,” I said. Her head popped up off of my should as she asked, “What is it?” Busted! I didn’t really have a secret.  I was desperate. I took a shot in the dark. I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “I love you.”
That wasn’t really a secret but I hoped that it would suffice for the moment. But, no. Now alert, she pressed on. “Why?” she demanded.
“Why?” Boy, I should have seen that one coming since it is the favorite question of most three year olds.  But I didn’t. I didn’t see it coming. God is gracious, though.  Without missing a beat, without even thinking, I replied, “Because you’re mine!”
Later that day, and many times since then, I have thought of that little scenario played out so long ago. I’ve pondered her question and my response. I didn’t need to think about my answer. It came out naturally, spontaneously. And in that little exchange between a father and his sleepy little girl we are reminded of the heart of the Gospel embodied in Jesus of Nazareth. God loves us. Why? Because we are His.

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A Glimpse of Grace in a Garbage Can

Each Tuesday evening I roll our large plastic garbage can out to the curb to be picked up early Wednesday morning by a sanitation crew.  It is something that I don’t look forward to doing and occasionally I forget to do it. This usually results in a problem by the time the next “garbage day” rolls around, especially if I forget the week before a major holiday like Thanksgiving or Christmas! Sometimes the can is so close to overflowing that I can barely close the lid. At other times there may be only a couple of tall kitchen bags of garbage in the bottom of the can. During the hot months of July and August I am careful when I open the lid to add more garbage. The putrid smell can literally take your breath away, especially if diapers are involved!
    One winter evening, as I struggled through three foot snow drifts to move the can from the back of the back door to the curb, I got to thinking about what my religious tradition calls “The Confession of Sin.” It is a time  set aside in our weekly worship service when we reflect upon the brokenness of our lives. and the world around us.  During a time of silent prayer I remember the promise that I had good intentions of keeping, but simply didn’t,  the unkind word spoken, the email that I wish I hadn’t sent, moments of callousness, “compassion fatigue”–the guilt of not being willing to give any more of myself. After the time of this silent reflection, I join my fellow worshipers in a more formal prayer of confession of sin. This time the prayer is for the brokenness of the world and the part that we play in that brokenness, no matter how small that part may be.  After the Confession, comes a word of grace, the Assurance of Pardon. It always ends with the words, “Believe the good news of the Gospel, in Jesus Christ, you are forgiven.”
    This confession of sin, when it comes from the heart, leads to a moment of grace. It allows us to unload all of the garbage of our lives, all of the stink and rot, and to place it on the “curb” for God to pick up and carry away. At these times, confession truly is “good for the soul.”
    Years ago I read a sermon entitled “My Heart, Christ’s Home”. Delivered by the Rev. Robert Boyd Munger at the First Presbyterian Church of Berkley a generation and a half ago, over the years it has been widely distributed around the world. The sermon is an allegorical story of how when one person invited Christ into his home of his heart a slow transformation that took place one day at a time.  In the closing scene of the allegory, the author tells of smelling a strong pungent rotten oder coming from a hidden closet conveniently tucked away in a forgotten part of the house. It was the one place that he did not want Christ to go for it contained all of his secrets, all of those things that the person was ashamed of. They may have been locked away but they were far from forgotten. Jesus looked at the man and understood.  He simply asked for the key to this final door of the man’s heart. He would clean this mess Himself. 
    We need to take out the garbage of our lives at least once a week, whether we want to or not. This is especially true in our spiritual lives. No doubt, we will produce more garbage before our time here is done but that doesn’t mean that we have to let it accumulate around us like a hoarder on some television show. There is Someone who will help us take our garbage to the curb,. All we have to do is give Him the key.

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