Final Sermon

So my task this morning, as the days wind down on my time at Jefferson, was to work on my sermon for this Sunday--my last Sunday at Jefferson. A few months ago I had some great idea about a sermon series on the lectionary epistle lessons that would culminate in some profound epistle I would write to the congregation. Pentecost kind of killed the sermon series (you can't really NOT preach Acts on Pentecost) and when I sat down this morning to write my momentous epistle, it just seemed awkward and self-important. So, out with that, in with...

Quilting. Yep, that's right. See, I'm a multi-tasker, and as I was getting started this morning, I was looking up guides for learning crochet. I picked up a teach-yourself-how-to kit a while ago when I was heading on a trip and would be sitting on a plane for a while, and recently decided to actually try it. I'm still trying. But that got me thinking about my other crafty hobby, quilting. And since working on sermons makes me generally hyper-reflective, I started thinking about how life, my time at Jefferson, relationships, etc. are indeed like looking just at the underside of a quilt. You are indeed seeing the quilt, but you're not seeing the beauty of it, only the labor of it. And let's admit it, even a quilt made at the hand of a skilled quilter looks a nit messy on the underside. Let alone one made by the rest of us who are just weekend quilters!

I thought of the relationships I've had that seemed so important at the time, but faded away making way (and preparing me) for others--whether friendships, mentor relationships, etc.

I thought of the difficult Ad Council meetings that were just downright uncomfortable. Or the decisions that seemed good at the time that looking back probably weren't the best idea.

I thought of the pain of other's arrogance and self-righteousness as they judge me and others. I thought of my own arrogance and self-righteousness.

I thought of the excitement of that first year, and the labor of the third.

I thought of the questions, the answers and the disagreements. And the wonderful moments of agreement.

I thought of the struggle to discern my answer to the clergy advisory form. And the peace of feeling it was, after all, the best.

I thought of the powerlessness of wondering what the cabinet was up to, and the surprise when the call finally did come.

I thought of all of this, and writing now, so much more comes to mind. The truth is, for all of us, much of life only really becomes clear later on. But that doesn't diminish our ability to enjoy each moment. Indeed, I think part of deep joy comes in know, for good or ill, that we can never really know what the whole story is.

What we can know, however, is whose story it is. It's not my story. Or your story. It's God's story. And that's mightily reassuring. Because God's story is like any good Disney movie: whatever happens in the rest of the movie, you know how it will end. The prince and princess end up together, happily ever after. God's story is like that. In the end, for all the ups and downs, appointments, relationships, successes, failures, pains, struggles, joys and just plain old regular days, God wins. And that's pretty awesome. In fact, that's pretty much the definition of awesome.