Across the globe, churches are beginning their liturgies for this Fourth Sunday of Easter, "Shout for joy to God, all the earth..."
"We went through fire and through water," the Psalm continues when I go to look it up, "yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance."
Lutheran readings come out of the twenty-first chapter of John. The gentle love of a risen Savior. "Children," he calls to the disciples, "do you have any fish?"
"No."
They had been up all night. Nothing. Frustration, perhaps. Confusion at being back in this place that they thought they had left behind. And, then...a man.
I wonder, as they moved their nets to the other side, if they had begun to dare. Dare to hope that this stranger on the shore might not be a stranger after all. If the nets filled and their hearts didn't jump with Peter as he threw on his cloak and ran splashing through the waves.
"Shout for joy to God, all the earth."
In our own strange way, we find ourselves joining in, celebrating the beautiful things that God has done. There are balloons in the hallways and snacks by the doors. Servers who offer treats and beach balls that fly through the service.
Sunshine. Laughter. The careful tying together of these layers of stories.
Celebration. Frustration. Confusion. Food.
The messy beauty of throwing on our cloaks even as we jump out of the boat -- because Jesus is here!
I have a couple of barefoot girls in amongst my 5th graders, almost-middle-schoolers who kick off their flip flops before service, leaving them beside mine in our space under the stairs. While the shepherds pray, they press their faces up towards the window in the door and watch the goings on. Watch as we talk to Jesus about their barefoot selves.
Oldest siblings with eyes that glow when I slip my lanyard around their neck and leave them to check each other in. Girls who save me a seat when I slip away to get the power point started and grin when I come back, having given a crash course to the high schooler who must have been standing in just the right spot in the hallway to be emergency recruited.
Because, today, that's a little bit how we roll.
Foot races in the gym. Question and answer time. Notebooking at the speed of light. Parent pick-ups. And, then they are off.
The 7th grade girls are already here, two of them waiting in the doorway, beautifully certain that, when they don't know what's going on, they can find a leader.
"It's set up different," they shrug. "I didn't know if I could go in."
It is different. It's very different this morning. But, they practice grace and respect and honor. Practice flexibility and good humor. Make the most of the sunshine. And, a few of them crawl deep into the bushes for a game of sardines. Dirty. Scratched up. Together.
Middle school is messy today, in ways that have nothing to do with the kids. But, there is prayer and there is worship, and, as much as our leaders hearts might want to shield them from from anything that might touch this hour and a half of sacred time, there is, in the midst of the brokenness -- because of the brokenness -- a beautiful picture of the Body. A Body that is bigger than simply the people who typically occupy this room.
Step in to take up the slack. Cover for each other's weaknesses. Pray. Show grace. Honor everyone.
"Children, do you have any fish?"
"No." Our hands are empty. Our hearts have been poured out. We're at a loss. But...there is a man on the shore.
Jesus.
The Body of Christ comes, in part, in the form of a woman who steps in to seamlessly lead our kids through an explanation of the role that they played in the celebration, to direct them towards other leaders for music, and to speak for a few moments before they go. As if catching runaway trains were the most natural thing in the world.
We shoo them out the door and, for once, clean up the remains without any smaller, helping hands.
Freshmen slip through on their way from the high school service and joke about my no longer "pregnant" belly. We stand in the hospitality room and eat berries out of tiny cups with tinier forks. Go out to lunch. Talk about Haiti and gymnastics on horseback and a dozen things in between.
Sunshine. Service. Intersect.
High schoolers who are full to overflowing with the warmth and sunshine of spring break. Camping trips. Game nights. Prom "proposals."
They pull out the frisbee and there is a tae kwon do demonstration that ends with a broken board in the parking lot. It's a little bit celebration and a lot a bit everyday. This is fish and bread on the shore. Doing our level, messy best to care for these kids, who are loved more than they will ever know. To care for each other.
To laugh and learn names. To play a game. Sing some songs. Listen to a lesson.
Because, the first answer to, "...do you love me?" is, "Feed my lambs."
"We went through fire and through water," the Psalm continues when I go to look it up, "yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance."
Lutheran readings come out of the twenty-first chapter of John. The gentle love of a risen Savior. "Children," he calls to the disciples, "do you have any fish?"
"No."
They had been up all night. Nothing. Frustration, perhaps. Confusion at being back in this place that they thought they had left behind. And, then...a man.
I wonder, as they moved their nets to the other side, if they had begun to dare. Dare to hope that this stranger on the shore might not be a stranger after all. If the nets filled and their hearts didn't jump with Peter as he threw on his cloak and ran splashing through the waves.
"Shout for joy to God, all the earth."
In our own strange way, we find ourselves joining in, celebrating the beautiful things that God has done. There are balloons in the hallways and snacks by the doors. Servers who offer treats and beach balls that fly through the service.
Sunshine. Laughter. The careful tying together of these layers of stories.
Celebration. Frustration. Confusion. Food.
The messy beauty of throwing on our cloaks even as we jump out of the boat -- because Jesus is here!
I have a couple of barefoot girls in amongst my 5th graders, almost-middle-schoolers who kick off their flip flops before service, leaving them beside mine in our space under the stairs. While the shepherds pray, they press their faces up towards the window in the door and watch the goings on. Watch as we talk to Jesus about their barefoot selves.
Oldest siblings with eyes that glow when I slip my lanyard around their neck and leave them to check each other in. Girls who save me a seat when I slip away to get the power point started and grin when I come back, having given a crash course to the high schooler who must have been standing in just the right spot in the hallway to be emergency recruited.
Because, today, that's a little bit how we roll.
Foot races in the gym. Question and answer time. Notebooking at the speed of light. Parent pick-ups. And, then they are off.
The 7th grade girls are already here, two of them waiting in the doorway, beautifully certain that, when they don't know what's going on, they can find a leader.
"It's set up different," they shrug. "I didn't know if I could go in."
It is different. It's very different this morning. But, they practice grace and respect and honor. Practice flexibility and good humor. Make the most of the sunshine. And, a few of them crawl deep into the bushes for a game of sardines. Dirty. Scratched up. Together.
Middle school is messy today, in ways that have nothing to do with the kids. But, there is prayer and there is worship, and, as much as our leaders hearts might want to shield them from from anything that might touch this hour and a half of sacred time, there is, in the midst of the brokenness -- because of the brokenness -- a beautiful picture of the Body. A Body that is bigger than simply the people who typically occupy this room.
Step in to take up the slack. Cover for each other's weaknesses. Pray. Show grace. Honor everyone.
"Children, do you have any fish?"
"No." Our hands are empty. Our hearts have been poured out. We're at a loss. But...there is a man on the shore.
Jesus.
The Body of Christ comes, in part, in the form of a woman who steps in to seamlessly lead our kids through an explanation of the role that they played in the celebration, to direct them towards other leaders for music, and to speak for a few moments before they go. As if catching runaway trains were the most natural thing in the world.
We shoo them out the door and, for once, clean up the remains without any smaller, helping hands.
Freshmen slip through on their way from the high school service and joke about my no longer "pregnant" belly. We stand in the hospitality room and eat berries out of tiny cups with tinier forks. Go out to lunch. Talk about Haiti and gymnastics on horseback and a dozen things in between.
Sunshine. Service. Intersect.
High schoolers who are full to overflowing with the warmth and sunshine of spring break. Camping trips. Game nights. Prom "proposals."
They pull out the frisbee and there is a tae kwon do demonstration that ends with a broken board in the parking lot. It's a little bit celebration and a lot a bit everyday. This is fish and bread on the shore. Doing our level, messy best to care for these kids, who are loved more than they will ever know. To care for each other.
To laugh and learn names. To play a game. Sing some songs. Listen to a lesson.
Because, the first answer to, "...do you love me?" is, "Feed my lambs."
