Sermon prepared for
by Gregory S. Kaurin, associate pastor
Morning Promise contemporary services,
Texts: Isaiah 25:4-9 &
Matthew 22:1-14
Sermon:
Crossing the Threshold
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Last week I told you about my dog, Katy, cringing at
the back door when she knows she did wrong.
This week is a little bit of “Katy, part II.”
Wednesday
night, my wife was coming in from a hard day.
It was a tough day in the classes.
Maybe you know the kind of day that leaves you wondering if you’re any
good at what you do. I can certainly
relate. As Pauline opened the door and
crossed the threshold, there was no cringing dog, but a tail-wagging dog,
mouth-wide open. Everything about Katy
said, “So, glad to see you! At
last! How long has it been? Five hours, months, years?” (And the cat was off to the side saying, “Oh,
you again.”)
Now,
think about this for a moment. Katy
doesn’t pay on any mortgage. She doesn’t
do chores to pay up her share of board expenses. It’s not her house. She came into our house and our life as a
welcomed guest, but somewhere along the way she crossed over the threshold from
being our guest to being a host to those who enter her home.
Keep
that in mind, because now I need to tell you something that is harder hear, it
was hard for me to hear it this past week.
As a pastor of a church that I absolutely love, I have heard over and
over why people love this congregation—why I love it—the warmth, the
opportunities, the choices, the people.
I personally have witnessed enough dedication, compassion, and ministry
to make your heart swim and your head beat.
I
ask all of our newer members what brings and keeps them here. Many will talk about how friendly people are,
and all the things I just mentioned. But
there have been a very few since I’ve been here have been candid with me about
bad experiences, even here at
Just
like individual people, it can have a lot to do when you catch us. Take the warmest person, catch him on a wrong
day, and you might walk away from him wondering how an iceberg floated all the
way down to
We
all slip up. —There are times I look back on what I’ve said or done and realize
that it sometimes seems more important for me to be right than to be pastoral,
more important to prove my point or get my way, than to act like a caring
person. It may take patience and
forgiveness to be a pastor, but I know first-hand that it can take a lot of
forgiveness and patience to be ministered by a pastor.
What
I want you to hear me saying here is that I am in this with you. We need to work on it together…to begin
crossing the threshold from being guests to being hosts. We are the Body of Christ in the world…warts
and all…here we are.
We’d
all like to come into our church, or other places like work, and immediately
seek out our friends to catch up. That’s
our comfort zone, but who does that leave out?
It leaves visitors in the cold.
It leaves lonely people cold.
There
are times when you come into this house, and you need someone to be there
greeting you at the threshold. There are
times. But there are many times that we
are called to suspend our comfort zone for a moment long enough to show some
quick kindness and welcome to someone else.
It takes fifteen seconds; our friends can wait longer than that. And through a miracle of the Spirit, that new
connection might lead to friendship later.
Maybe not—but I believe that fifteen seconds changes a person’s day, and
sometimes the direction of their life—more than we realize.
I
know that it is not everyone’s personality to be a welcoming and tail-wagging
person. I do not think we need to become
what we aren’t. But here’s some good
news for those who like to be a bit quieter and reserved. Not many people enjoy being suddenly swarmed
by strangers that act like sudden close friends and starving fish.
So,
those of us who are introverts know it doesn’t necessarily take more than a
simple, one-on-one greeting and welcome.
That’s enough to say, “I see you and you are invited and welcome here to
the feast.”
We
are not called to be what we aren’t, but we are called to act like the
Christians that we are—and to show it.
Cross the threshold: from guest to host.
It’s hard, can be very hard, the first time…easier the next. That’s why it’s called “practice.”
Mistakes
are forgivable, already forgiven, and that’s called grace. You’ve got that. You are a child of God. You have been brought into his house and fed
at his table. You have eternal
life. You are invited to the feast, not
because of your pedigree, power, talents, looks, achievements, brains, brawn,
or anything else, but because God loves you where you are, even as you are, he
loves you. All your shames are wiped
clean by the way that he looks at you.
He has tasted your tears and has wiped them from your cheeks. Jesus, your brother has said to you: “Be at
peace; you belong here at my side. Feast
with me, celebrate with me.”
We
are asked to be at peace long enough to welcome someone else into the places
that you love, into your church, into your personal space, whatever. If I can do it, even as imperfectly as I
do—so can you. God has called you, no
less than he called me or anyone else to share what he has given us, in are
least a smile and a handshake.
Cross
the threshold. And I’m not just talking about
being nice on Sunday mornings in this building.
For some of you the threshold you need to cross is to finally accept,
truly accept, the grace of God into your life.
That is your strength to try things. —It comes from knowing that you’re
already on the guest list, and already at the feast.
The
grace that saves has invited us all off the street. We come to the feast where God has promised
to be. But we are not just spectators in
our Christian life. We are asked to wear
the grace God has given us.
The wedding garment in Jesus’ story was
traditionally provided by the host or the king.
The fact that the young man wasn’t wearing it showed that he was
refusing to join in the joy. Every party
has a party pooper. (Isn’t there a silly
song about that?)
In
the story, the king binds him and throws him out. Actually, party-poopers at God’s feast are
people who bind themselves and continue to separate themselves from the grace
and love that is happening all around them.
They do things and act in ways that keep themselves out in the cold.
We
know the things that get in our way of joy and God’s presence. It might be addiction to work, or
alcohol. It might be lies built upon
more lies. It might be a suffering
marriage, or low self-esteem, cynicism, unforgiven hurts or depression. It might be a lack of family, friends. Or, it might be letting the worries and
pressure of family and friends crowd our lives until there’s no room for
ourselves or our spiritual life. We
wonder why people sit in lives like that when it makes them so miserable. We wonder it about ourselves sometimes.
You
might say that living like that it makes us feel cold and sad, but honestly, I
think we get comfortable there. The
alternative, changing, looks uncomfortable and hard because—like someone who’s
been in prison too long—we know we don’t feel free, but this is what we’re used
to.
We
Christians are called to take the steps, to call someone who can help us, to
seek God in prayer, to seek his help through professionals, family, friends,
new habits, daring ourselves and trusting God and his promises and retrusting
him again. We’re going to be okay. We can make it out of this hole, with help,
one step at a time, because we are invited over the threshold and into the
wedding feast that has no end: God united to his people.
We
are on the guest list with millions before us, millions after us, angels and
archangels, Jesus Christ and God himself all surround us with love and
joy. This is a celebration!
This
is a chance at a new way of living each and every day: to fall down, and get
right back up, brush off our knees, and try again; to practice at being
Christian. It’s practice, never
perfection. Perfection is God’s
job. He did it to death, and back to
life again. You’re job is to rejoice. And to show it to others. Fears are over-rated, and experiencing the
party is worth it. Welcome to the feast
of heaven. Welcome home.
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