Plymouth Congregational Church

God for All

Jesus Played the Fiddle – Part 2

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Compassion has a dozen advocates,

but for the Christian, none is higher than this:
when we love those in need
we are loving Jesus.

It is a mystery beyond science, a truth beyond statistics,
but it is a message that Jesus made crystal clear:
when we love them, we love Him.

This is the theme of His final sermon.

Healthy, happy people don’t hurt each other.

How often do you wake up in the morning grumbling about some thing you have absolutely no control over? Your gossipy neighbor, your overbearing boss, your overworked and under paid? Or how about the sheer fact you want nothing more to do this particular morning than to have another five minutes in the solitude of your sheets before facing the world while your toddler jumps on your head, the alarm clock keeps ringing and you have nobody to defer all the chaos too other than your pillow which is now firmly planted on your face praying for all of “this” to leave you alone for just five more minutes.

How often do you wake up in the morning and think I’m happy to be alive? I’m happy to have the fat on my body to show childbirth or from the delicious meals you have daily. How about the joy of hearing the birds chirping outside your window in their early morning wake up call?

Why do we destine ourselves to find the negative when there is so much hope and happiness sitting at the end of your toes each day?

Healthy, happy people don’t hurt each other.

Many years ago I heard a woman discuss her visit to the Catholic Church in downtown Miami Florida, in 1979. It was a small sanctuary overflowing with people. The event wasn’t publicized it just happened. It was a noon hour presentation. People showed up a few minutes early in hopes of a front row seat. They should have arrived two hours early. People packed every pew and aisle. Some sat in the windowsills. The audience was chatty and restless. Yet when she entered the room all-stirring stopped.

No music. No long introduction. No fanfare from any public official. No entourage. Just three, maybe four, younger versions of herself, the local priest, and her.

The father issued a brief word of welcome and told a joke about placing a milk crate behind the lectern so that we could see his guest. He wasn’t kidding. He positioned it, and she stepped up, and those blue eyes looked out at us. What a face. Vertical lines chiseled around her mouth. Her nose, larger than most women would prefer. Thin lips as if drawn with a pencil, and a smile naked of pretense.

She wore her characteristic white Indian sari with blue border that represented the missionaries of Charity, the order she had founded in 1949. Her 69 years had bent her already small frame. But there was nothing small about Mother Teresa.

“Give me your unborn children she offered. Don’t abort them. If you cannot raise them, I will. They are precious to God.”

Healthy, happy people don’t hurt each other.

Who would’ve ever pegged this slight Albanian woman as a change agent? Born in the cauldron of ethnic strife, the Balkans. Shy and introverted as a child. Of fragile health. One of three children. The daughter of a generous but unremarkable businessman. Yet somewhere along her journey, she became convinced that Jesus walked in the distressing disguise of the poor, and she set out to love Him by loving them.

In 1989 she told a reporter that her missionaries had picked up around 54,000 people from the streets of Calcutta and 23,000 or so had died in their care.

My favorite quote from Mother Teresa reads, “I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much.”

How do you accept God’s trust?

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Author: bkbites

Stay at home Mom of 3 boys, 1 goofy dog, 2 wickedly crazy cats, and a traveling husband. Ah, what can be better? It's a full life without a doubt.

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